


Try Me On (Baby)

by one_starry_night



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: (not just a "sex fic"), A story told backwards., A story with a plot, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends to Lovers, Betty shouldn't be doing this and neither should he, Emotional Sex, F/M, Flashbacks., Fluff and Smut, Jug is not a virgin fyi, Jughead is in love with his roommate, Jughead is the only one that can make Betty cum, MY EMOTIONS!, Oral Sex, Pre-Romantic relationship vignettes., Protective Jughead Jones, Romantic Friendship, Sexual Content, palpable tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-01-30 14:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 60,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12655719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_starry_night/pseuds/one_starry_night
Summary: She didn't expect it to be like that with Jughead.___Or, Betty Cooper sleeps with her best friend and roommate. What could go wrong here. In a word, everything.





	1. nothing like the first time

_Chasing footsteps in the dark,_

_Empty footsteps, they leave no spark._

_She's a ghost now,_

_Walk the streets alone._

**-Ghost Town, Oliver Daldry**

 

It’s past midnight when Betty Cooper rolls to the side. She’s feeling vulnerable and if she’s honest with herself, she’s still in a state of shock. It wasn’t supposed to be like _this_ , she thinks. She stares at the wall for a minute, wondering if this is a dream. She hopes so. Maybe, she thinks, this is some sort of nightmare; she’ll wake up tomorrow and be re-virginized, the rosy-cheeked girl from Riverdale, who doesn’t do things like _this_. Betty Cooper would _never_. But here she is: the perfect girl next door, who just lost her virginity to a fucking jock. She cringes. It sounds like a cliché straight out of  _American Graffiti_ and now she is, for lack of a better word - because she can’t really process this right now – _embarrassed?_ _Horrified?_

 

She angles her head and turns to look at Archie Andrews, who’s passed out next to her, already asleep as if he couldn’t be bothered. Wasn’t he supposed to do something like hold her afterwards? Only, _he didn’t_. There was no cuddling, no kissing, no exchange of pleasantries, _nothing_.

 

Nothing. The word reverberates through her mind. The summation of the entire experience of having sex for the first time (or ‘fucking,’ as he so aptly put it an hour before) felt simply like _nothing._

 

Betty wonders if her penchant for romance novels over the years ranging from _Pride and Prejudice_ to _The Summer I Turned Pretty_ have ruined this for her. It wasn’t just the fact that she had betrayed every standard that she had ever set for herself since she was eleven and could write out her thoughts in the pages of a click and lock journal. _That wasn’t it._ No, the worst part, she finally realizes is that sex was _nothing_ like what she’d thought it would be. There was that word again. As tears stream down Betty’s cheeks, she studies the paint plastered over the wall on her side of the bed and decides that this is what sex is: it's a void, it is devoid, and it is simply _nothing_.

 

As Betty cries, she tries to think of something else to preoccupy her mind with, something a little less hormone laden. She thinks of her favorite childhood movie, _Sleeping Beauty_ , and sings “Once Upon a Dream” to herself silently as she cries. The last thing she utters on her first day as a woman is, ‘There is no prince, Betty.’

 

Then, she falls asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

The morning after isn’t much better.

 

She wakes up at 6:00 am, facing the same wall that was more her bedfellow than the actual adult male sleeping beside her. Archie is still passed out next to her; at some point during the night, he had shifted to the other side of the bed – he hadn’t even bothered to spoon her, which is what she wanted after all – _was that too much to ask for?_ Affection. Something. _Anything?_

 

She decides that she needs is to get out of there as soon as possible (preferably _before_ he wakes and she becomes an object of abject shame). Betty sees it all too clearly now; he wanted to sleep with her and now that the conquest is over, _they’re over_. Tears threaten to ruin the silence in his bedroom, so Betty holds her breath as she dresses hastily, slipping out the door of his apartment unseen. As soon as her feet hit the sidewalk, tears spill from her eyes as she fumbles with the keys at the bottom of her purse. She cries as she starts up the ignition. She can’t feel her face because it’s nearly winter, but her insides feel like fire.

 

She cries the entire way home.

 

 

 

 

Betty is still crying when she slips inside of the place she calls home, a spacious two-bedroom apartment that she and her roommate, Jughead Jones, can _only_ afford by splitting the rent. She doesn’t bother hiding her fragile mental state as she throws her purse and keys haphazardly onto the kitchen counter. The purse lands instantly, but the keys race ahead of her leather satchel, eventually stopping at the counter’s edge.

 

Betty Cooper might have been raised to observe social niceties, but she’s never felt the need to be Emily _fucking_ Post around Jughead; she’s simply ‘Betts’ with him, which is something that she will never stop being grateful for. That’s why he’s the one she needs right now as she walks down the end of the hallway. She continues to sob uncontrollably, flinging her shoes against the wall as her hands push open his bedroom door. She finds him sleeping shirtless beneath the covers, limbs stretched as far as the bed will have them.

 

She must be crying loudly because Jughead doesn’t stay asleep for long; in actuality, she’s in hysterics by this point, she just doesn’t know it yet. He jolts awake and sits up straight almost immediately. He rubs one eye and says simply, “What’s wrong?”

 

He’s seen her have a panic attack before, so this isn’t something new per se, but _this_ (and whatever is going on with her) seems worse than normal; he notices straightaway that her hair is in disarray at the side of her face. It’s a distinct aberration from her normally taut ponytail. Something’s amiss. But he’s grown accustomed to her sleeping in his bed during the weekdays, so it isn’t weird when she slips beneath his covers, losing that last vestige of control that she never really had anyways as another sob breaks forth.

 

“Betts, are you okay?” He presses the pad of his thumb beneath her eye, wiping the wetness away as he looks at her in bewilderment.

 

Her crying is so ugly in this moment. She musters up the energy to speak again, to explain what she’s done, unmarred by the snot that she’s almost certain has made its way down her nose, “Jug, I know you warned me not to with _him_ but I did it anyways. I had sex for the first-time last night and,” Betty sputters, each breath hitching as she sobs, “And now I just feel _nothing_. But if I feel nothing, then why do I feel _so bad_?”

 

He looks at her, eyes softening as his thumb skims her chin. “Oh, Betts.” He sighs and offers his arms to her as a gesture of comfort. She cries as she wraps her arms around his midsection.

 

They lay down like that. He just holds her. He doesn’t ask any further questions unless she offers them, not wanting to probe her needlessly, not when she’s like _this_ – alternating somewhere between a state of despondency and numbness.

 

Jughead’s fingers find their way into her scalp. “It’s going to be okay, Betts,” he says, “I promise.”

 

He means it.


	2. but then you knelt by my mattress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are they really doing this?
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> Or, the first time, again. 
> 
> Author's Note: In this chapter, I made sure that Betty had "sobered up," before anything happened between she and Jughead. What they are doing IS consensual; he loves her, he's simply trying to take care of her.

_Oh, Ophelia, you've been on my mind girl like a drug_

_Oh, Ophelia, heaven help a fool who falls in love_

_Oh, Ophelia, you've been on my mind girl since the flood_

_Oh, Ophelia, heaven help a fool who falls in love_

 

**-Ophelia, The Lumineers**

 

Betty wakes up with Jughead resting behind her and one arm hooked firmly around her waist. She’s grateful that she doesn’t live alone _or_ have to ‘go it alone,’ which is what he whispered to her last night as he held her close, whispering sweet, gentle nothings against her ear to soothe her. She cried for half an hour before she succumbed to sleep.

 

“Are you okay?” He says from behind her. His voice is laden with sleepiness.

 

Betty turns around to find a somnolent Jughead sharing her pillow, his black hair sticking out in every direction. She notices the bags under his eyes straightaway; they look weary, tinged blackish-blue around his bottoms lids. She feels badly for waking him, she does, but she _needed_ him. But Betty isn’t ready to talk just yet. In response to his question, she shakes her head. He knows the expression (and _her_ ) so well that she doesn’t need to speak; it’s a resounding ‘no, not okay.’ He understands. He brings his thumb to the edge of her cheek again, barely rubbing it against her skin as he waits for her to say something. When she doesn’t, he prompts her gently.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He really just wants to make sure she’s okay.

 

Betty wipes a wet sting from her left eye and sucks in the dark air in the room.

 

He doesn’t prod. He simply says, as if to reassure her once more, “It’ll be okay, Betts,” as he continues running his fingers down her arm, skimming her skin.

 

She sighs, trying to work out how she’s feeling today. A keen sense of sadness, maybe? Regret? Definitely. She tucks her hands underneath the pillow and looks at him. “I feel like a fool,” She says, adding angrily (her tone directed more at herself than at him), “Why don’t we talk about the fact that I’m the idiot who got played, Jug? Yes, _let’s_. I would love to spend the morning regaling you of tales of my fuck up. No, of course I don’t want to talk about it, Jug. This isn’t your dissertation we’re talking about here.”

 

He doesn’t take her tone personally. Instead, he attempts to cut the tension in half by saying lightly. “ _Well_ , in spite of everything, you’ve somehow managed to retain your sass,” He quips, “So there’s that.”

 

Betty smiles graciously. Even during the absolute worst situations Jughead always had this innate ability to make human suffering seem like an absurdity rather than something pitiable. It was one of his many redeeming (albeit a tad sardonic) qualities.

 

“Look who’s gone from forlorn to smiling. The veritable Pollyanna has returned.” He cocked one eyebrow at her playfully, wearing a light smirk on his face.

 

“You just think that all human experiences are ironic and pointless, if not downright comical.”

 

“ _I do_?” He says as he places a hand against his chest. It was a rhetorical question.

 

“Shut-up, Jug. You know you do. You say shit like that all the time.” Betty smirks.

 

He smiles now that she’s smiling.

 

“Can we stay in this weekend like we did the last time?”

 

The ‘last time’ Betty is referring to is essentially every weekend. They spend the majority of their evenings together anyways. Their bodies are usually sprawled on the couch when neither of them feeling like working on their University induced work-load, which happens often because while he’s working on his dissertation in Writing and Rhetoric, Betty, a Grad Student, is (well, she _was_ supposed to be) starting her thesis for the rigorous MFA program she’s part of.

 

(But for Jughead, it’s _always_ been about the cuddling).

 

“You mean,” He corrects, “Can we lounge in our pajamas all day and essentially do nothing while complaining about absolutely everything? I am _so_ in.”

 

Betty laughs lightly; he carries on in attempt take her mind off other things.

 

“It’s the millennial way,” He adds, “Complain, but never actually do a constructive thing about anything, except maybe blog about it. But words are my weapon of choice, so I’m just demeaning myself here, really.” He smiles sardonically, his eyes begging for her to respond.

 

“ _Jug_.” Betty rolls her eyes.

 

“Kidding. Okay, I’m so not, but we can do whatever you want, Betts. But you’re buying the pizzas tonight. I’m entitled. I won’t just settle for the frozen kind.”

 

The light jokes _do_ manage to dispel her sadness momentarily. But maybe it’s just him, Betty muses. She giggles and he is _so_ relieved to see her smiling again.

 

“Come here.” Jughead pulls her into him. Betty sighs. They spent another half an hour sharing the silence as they cuddle beneath his sheets; his hands find their way into her hair again as she rests against him.

 

 

 

 

Noon approaches. There are light droplights of frost outside; it’s misting, but isn’t quite raining. Betty borrows Jughead’s thicker set of plaid pajama bottoms to wear over her black leggings and settles against the couch. He disappears into the kitchen for a while, probably making coffee as Betty begins to think. She feels sullen. She also feels stupid for even doing what she did in the first place. It’s all a bit much for her to try and process in the am. Soon, her eyes begin to mist.

 

“I added that so-called flavoring to your expresso here, Betts.” He attempts to hands her a white mug full of fresh coffee that’s frothed around its edges. When she doesn’t grab the mug straightaway he sets it down against the coffee table and grabs her hand, “Hey.”

 

She’s staring in the distance. She appears to sulk for a moment as she pulls on her lower lip with her teeth, her eyes not quite meeting his.

 

“Betts.” He shakes her arm gently as if to say, ‘I’m here’ and waits until she looks at him.

 

She does. And then she begins to cry.

 

“Oh, Betts.” He expels a short breath and holds her face in his hands, “Come here.”

 

He pulls her into him and she just lets it all out. There’s a faint chill in their little place, so he grabs the felt blanket behind him and wraps it around their legs, taking care to tuck it beneath her feet first before he covers his own. She’s bundled beneath him now, like a cocoon in his middle. He holds her close as she wraps her arms around him. His hands are in her hair for a little while before he turns on the news.

 

 

 

 

It’s been half a day of mindless television and silent cuddling between them when Betty breaks her silence. “I want to talk,” is all she says.

 

She sits up and Jughead looks at her.

 

“I feel so stupid, Jug. You pegged that guy as proverbial player from the get go, said unequivocally to ‘not have sex with that guy under any circumstances.’ You told me not to and I did it anyways.”

 

“Hey,” He says, rubbing circles on her shoulder to reassure her, “Enough with the self-degradation already. You are not stupid. The Betty Cooper I know is anything _but_.”

 

“Then why do I feel so dead inside right now? Is _this_ what sex is like, Jug, you feel empty afterwards or something?”

 

He doesn’t mean to, but he curls his mouth into a little smile.

 

“What?” She looks at him.

 

“Well, since you asked, _no_. Sex is not supposed to feel like nothing.”

 

“Well it did to me.”

 

Jughead wraps his arm around her and the length of the couch, turns back to look at the television averting his gaze and says playfully, “Well, this guy clearly didn’t know what he was doing then.” He turns to look at her again, “And don’t ask me to elaborate on that, Betts.”

 

Betty can’t help but laugh. “Oh, and _you_ do?”

 

He turns to her, almost half biting his lip as he looks to her mouth once and then says, “What do you think?”

 

Betty doesn’t say anything. She purses her lips together and shrugs. She knows that he’s had girls before, and from what Ron had told her, they hadn’t exactly complained, so – _yeah_ , ‘so not going there, Betty’ she thinks as she looks at the television again. She reminds herself that it’s weird to think of her best friend like that.

 

Him. Having sex. But who with? No, Betty, _don’t even_.

 

That night, he holds her tight; they cuddle in his bed under three piled blankets because the wind chill dropped exponentially that evening. The windows that surround his bed are already frosted over; there’s a space heater in the corner of the room, expelling its heat to warm the air beside their bed. Betty plays with his hair as they watch a movie. He shifts a little so that she’s can lay on him. She plays with his hair for a little while longer before her arm grows tired of reaching up to tangle the curl above his eyes between her fingers. She lets her hand fall by the wayside and as they continue watching it, he grabs her left one and runs his fingers up and down her hand.

 

They fall asleep like that. Sleeping on each other, holding one another ( _sort of_ ) like they always do; Betty’s bed was (and is) always neat, but not because she wanted to impress her matronly pain-in-the-ass mother, but because she never really sleeps in it anymore. The TV is still playing when Betty moves her head to his chest and Jughead’s arms come around her. She’s asleep in minutes.

 

 

 

 

The following evening, Jughead apologized profusely because their weekend of staying in ‘would have to be put on hold.’ But Betty doesn’t protest because she got him the whole of Saturday. She knows he needs time for that dissertation and whatever else he does alone. Writing, _probably_. Betty leaves him to it. Veronica Lodge picks her up at seven and they’re off to another (meaningless, hobnobbing) soiree she’s planned at her home that weekend. She doesn’t tell Ron about Archie (or the fact that she’s no longer a virgin, because that would be “big news” to Ron and she doesn’t want to play the inevitable game twenty questions that her friend would almost certainly unload on her). She’s keeping that private for now because tonight she wants to forget.

 

The first order of forgetting, she thinks, is inebriation. So, with said goal in mind, Betty decides to get really,  _really_ drunk. She imbibes an innumerable amount of whiskey sours (hold the sour) and _it’s on_.

 

Veronica only notices just how inebriated Betty truly is when she mumbles, ‘your hair smells expensive, Ron’ and dips her head into the crook of her neck - almost as if she’s going to kiss her - but she doesn’t of course. Instead, Betty’s green eyes flutter shut as she takes a whiff of her friend’s hair – the scent, a Frederick Fekkai shampoo, and an eau de perfume, the perfect perversion of raspberries and figs – ‘It’s Dior, Poison,” Ron says as she turns her head to look at Betty, “You okay?”

 

“Well, it smells really good!” Betty says, letting out a raucous giggle as her head dips a little.

 

“Okay," Veronica says, emulating her mother as she purses her lips and says, “Exactly how many drinks did you have, honey?”

 

Betty holds up a bunch of fingers all at once and says – as if Veronica needs another confirmation of her friend’s inebriation and _soon-to-come_ hangover – “Spirit hands!”

 

Betty has forgotten how to count. _Fantastic._ Veronica knows that things can only go downhill from here. Because she’s had two dry martinis herself, she can’t even drive her home. She texts Jughead in the interim.

 

**_Your girl is drunk. I’m not fit to drive. Pick her up?_ **

 

His reply is swift.

 

**_Is she okay?_ **

 

As if she _wouldn’t_ take care of Betty. _Really._ Veronica smiles and rolls her eyes. Jughead’s distinct lack of confidence in her is _so annoying_. And he is so her _almost_ boyfriend (but not really) that isn’t even funny anymore. Betty simply doesn’t see it.

 

 ** _Were at a Penthouse, Jughead._** She assures him with a quick type of the virtual buttons, **_Of course she’s okay. I just can’t drive. I don’t think she should stay here tonight. She’s wasted._**

 

**_Be there in twenty._ **

 

He’s there in even less time than that. Betty greets him at the door by yelling, “Juggie! You came!” She runs over to him and wraps her arms around his neck.

 

“You are so wasted,” He says with a smirk.

 

“I am not,” She says in earnest, knocking his beanie off in one swift motion and replacing it on her own head. She looks up at him and beams in satisfaction. When he frowns at the loss of his ‘comfort-blanket’ (that is what she’d dubbed his hat as anyways), Betty emulates his expression of disapproval and rubs her hand all over his hair.

 

Jughead sighs. “Come on, Betts. Let’s get you home.” He has the distinct feeling that it’s going to be a long night for both of them as grabs her hand, steadying her before she falls over.

 

 

 

 

He ends up carrying her down the hallway, her head drooping against his shoulder, arms at half-mast like they’ve given up on their revelry for the evening. He looks down at her and smirks. Perhaps, he thinks, getting Betty home without her passing out (or vomiting) was a rather quixotic thing to take on. But he does it. He always does it. _It’s her._ And he’ll do anything for her.

 

“I love you, Jug,” Betty whispers against his neck, “I drank tonight. Sorry.”

 

“That you did, Betts. Let’s get you to bed.”

 

When they get to his bedroom, Jughead kicks the door open and walks Betty over to the bed. As he’s shutting the door, he watches Betty, who’s eyes are half-shut, pull off her leggings and socks, her tan, lean legs now draped across the comforter. She shakes her head and sluffs off her sweater, leaving her in just underwear and a tank top.

 

Nearly five minutes later, he gets into bed with her, wearing only his boxers. It’s not weird. It’s what they’ve been doing for a while now, playing a dangerous game of _closer_. He hasn’t lost yet, so _it’s fine_ , he thinks, as if he needs to reassure himself or something. But then Betty rolls over and spoons him. Her hands come around his bare waist and her cheek rests against his back. He’s hard almost instantly.

 

Fuck.

 

 

 

 

It’s inevitable really. He couldn’t have expected her to sleep through the entire night and _not_ wake up – no - not when her stomach is full of alcohol. That would be patently unrealistic. So, when she wakes up early in the am, _he is ready_. He’s already anticipated _this_. He knows what’s about to happen. As his name leaves her lips with a quick plea for help – _Juggie I don’t feel so good_ – she says as she throws up all over her shirt.

 

He helps her into the bathroom. She’s sober now, _sort of_? She’s forming coherent sentences, but at the same time, she’s clutching her sides like whatever is happening to her in this moment is the worst thing in the world (and it will be for the next few hours and then it will be gone like an ephemeral thing). He didn’t find her hair tie in time, so by the time Betty is finished throwing up (for now anyways), the ends of her hair are covered in vomit.

 

“Sorry about this,” she says, one hand on the toilet as she’s hunched over. Her fingers dance across her brow. She’s contemplating her choice to get drunk. It was a stupid one, most assuredly.

 

“God, Betts.” His hand brushes against her hair as he says, “You really can’t sleep like this now.”

 

Betty looks down to see the vomit encrusted strands. She feels disgusting. As her eyes go lower, she notes that the top portion of her shirt is covered in vomit too. Then she starts to cry. Softly at first, and then not so softly. Sad cries give way to ugly, regret-laden sobs and she says, “Why am I such a fuck up, Jug? Seriously.”

 

Jughead sits next to her and puts his hand on her shoulder, encircling the top with his thumb. He sighs and just rubs, “You’re not, Betts. Really.”

 

She believes him. That doesn’t change the fact that she’s covered in vomit, though. He starts the shower for her and when she stands up she realizes that she’s slightly inebriated (but _not_ drunk) still and very nearly loses her balance. Jughead catches her at the last minute, steadying her shoulders with his hands. She sighs and pushes her shoulders against them. It’s a grip she knows. She can’t help but whimper at how nice he’s being, taking care of her like this. God, he-is-just-so. Betty quickly shuts down wherever that thought trail was going, the ending almost assuredly something forbidden to think or speak aloud.

 

“Look, Betts, I don’t want you tripping in the shower, so I’ll just wait right here.”

 

Betty notices, feeling complete, abject horror when she does so, that her vomit made its way onto his pajama bottoms and now she just feels bad.

 

When she takes a step forward, she almost trips again.

 

“Woah, Betts. Careful.”

 

Betty doesn’t think about this. Instead, she says flippantly, “It’s fine. Jug. Just shower with _me_.” Before he can protest or even process what she’s just said – _had he heard that right_ – Betty peels her shirt off, flings it in against the hamper, and very nearly trips again.

 

“J-just stay put, Betts,” he stutters, trying not to look. But he can’t. He can’t _not_ look, so he does the only conceivable thing he can in this situation and turns around. He goes over to the shower to turn the knob, as water splays everywhere, covering the tile in wetness as steam envelopes the room. When he turns around again, Betty is kicking of her underwear. His eyes trail upwards. Legs, legs, legs – _and_. _It_. Her stomach and then, _them_. Betty rubs her eyes sleepily. But when she takes a step forward Jughead catches her. She looks up at him for a minute and blinks. Still steadying her, Jughead doesn’t think, instead, he just _does_. He slips off his boxers and throws them to the ground.

 

Seconds later, they’re in the shower. Together. Wet and _very_ naked.

 

As the hot water hits her, Betty gains some semblance of her senses as she realizes that she is now showering with her best friend – a member of the male species – _naked_. It doesn’t take long before her eyes trail downwards, too. Now, she’s the one noticing him, and he’d be lying if he said he minded. Jughead smirks and lifts her chin up, “My eyes are up here, Coop.”

 

Betty stares at his face. Jughead smirks again and thumbs her chin. Before he can do anything stupid he grabs her shoulders and turns her around.

 

“What are you doing, Jug?”

 

“Washing you,” He says in a firm and unequivocal manner.

 

“Oh,” is all she says as he grabs the white bottle neck to him, clicking the lid open.

 

She feels his hands in her hair only a second later. He’s washing her hair. After the night of hell she put him through, he’s not even mad? Jughead, _the saint_. Betty tries to turn around to say something. Thank you? And maybe something a little bit more poignant or just ‘god, I’m sorry I’m so insufferable, Jug,’ and ‘why do you even put up with me,’ but when she does he stops her

 

“Jug, let go of my shoulders.”

 

“Betts, I…”

 

When she turns around, though, she stares. _He’s hard_.

 

“Quit staring at my dick, Betts.”

 

“I, sorry?” It’s an admission of guilt, _sort of_. But _yes_ , she was staring.

 

“Turn around.”

 

She does as she’s told. When she feels his hands and the ivory soap glide across her shoulders she lowers her head and bites her lower lip.

 

When they’re done showering he wraps her up in a terry towel and grabs one for himself. Betty darts over to the sink to brush her teeth and run a comb through her hair. After she rinses her mouth with cool water and an overpriced organic mouthwash (she doesn’t trust triclosan and anything that doesn’t have simple, pronounceable ingredients), she pats her face and turns around to see him wrapped in a towel.

 

He helps her into some of his pajamas. She doesn’t bother with underwear because she’s too tired to care at this point. She wears a pair of his plaid boxers instead. After they’ve crawled into bed, when his arms come around her, she looks up at him with tears in her eyes, about to say thank you (and add, ‘god, why do you even put up with me, Jug’). But something else happens - _instead_ , he does something different, something they’ve _never_ done before. He puts a hand against one cheek and leans in to kiss her.

 

_Oh._

 

He pulls his lips away to look at her. Betty doesn’t know what to say, so she looks at him once. He does it again. She gasps and looks at his lips as his hands come around her face to skim her jawline.

 

Then, she kisses _him_.

 

His lips cover her top lip, planting firmly against her pout a few times before they both ease into one another. When their lips pull against each other’s, Jughead pushes her against the pillow, grabbing her hands to lace her fingers through his own as his lips dominates hers. Betty unlocks her hands and grabs his face to get more access to his lips and as they kiss, he whispers ‘no more crying tonight, okay.’ She nods as his mouth covers hers once more.

 

Later, Betty will look back and remember this as the defining moment when everything shifted between them. They will never go back to being just ‘Betts’ and ‘Juggie’ ever again. Because when you’ve taken a shower with your best friend and your _both_ naked, things change between you two. It’s inevitable, really. But Betty didn’t think it through, obviously. Especially not with what they did the next day.

 

 

 

 

They’re in the kitchen the next morning. The air feels different. It’s all feeling very domestic suddenly as she joins Jughead in the living room for coffee and small talk, averting her gaze as he stands next to her as she watches the black coffee drip, drip…

 

The sound makes her think of the water spewing around them. It makes her think of his hands on her back, in her hair, down her arms. When brushes his hand against hers on the counter she is just _gone_.

 

“Betts,” he grabs her hand like he wants to say something to her, but all that comes out is a choked, “ _Also_.”

 

“What?” Betty says. She laughs nervously. He’s looking at her now, _really_ looking at her. Peeling away her layers like he wants something more.

 

“Jug, I,” she pulls away. But what’s about to happen is inevitable. Jughead spins her back around and grabs her, hoisting her up by the legs so that he can trap her between nothing but his lips and the counter.

 

 _The Lumineers_ is still playing in the background as his hands come up to rest against the cabinet on either side of her head (he’d put the music on mere minutes before as he strolled leisurely though their living room); and as the chorus starts again, they’re looking at each other, neither saying a word as Betty’s breath (and heart rate) rises. It only takes two more seconds before his lips are on hers.

 

Betty only stops for a minute to look at him again, “Are we,” she pauses, “Are we really doing _this_ , Jug?” She’s not entirely sure what she’s referencing herself. _Kissing?_ _The two of them together Romantically?_

“If it’s what you want,” he kisses her again. But then – _and she takes an enormous breath as she hears the following words leave his lips_ \- he answers all those questions _and more_ when he says emphatically, “Let me fix what happened to you the other night, Betts. I _want_ to be your first. Let me do this for you, Betts. _Please._ Let _me_ be your first.”

 

“But I - Jug, you know I’m _not_ anymore.” It sounds almost shameful.

 

“Shhh, is all he says, putting a hand to her mouth, “What _I mean_ ,” he says as he flicks her lower lip with fingers, “Is that I want to help you redo your first time, Betts. I want to make it so that you won’t remember him and instead all you’ll remember is me. So, I’ll be your first. I’ll be the only one you ever remember.”

 

“Okay,” She whispers, “ _Yes_.” They’re doing this. They’re really going to do _this_. Betty nods her head frantically and they begin kissing while she’s still sitting on the counter. He pulls off her shirt first and then his mouth is just all over her as his hands skim the undersides of her breast. She isn’t silent anymore. She whimpers as he feels his lips move down her chest. He takes a nipple into her mouth first before his lips move further down, kissing a trail down her stomach, just past her navel.

 

He carries her to his bedroom, setting her down delicately against his duvet like she’s a blushing virgin (because in this moment, that is _the_ perfect pictorial definition of how she’s feeling about this). She lays there against the comforter, watching as he kisses a trail down her stomach. He moves his head back to hers again, kissing her twice before he parts her legs and whispers above her head, “Let me put my mouth on you.”

 

 _Oh._ He wants to kiss her _there_.

 

“Jug, I’ve never done that or had it done…. _to me_.” Betty averts her gaze from his; maybe she had several more firsts to conquer after all.

 

“Please?”

 

He says it so gently, imploring her to let him do this to her; from the way he says it it’s almost as though she’d be doing him a favor, which makes her heart race unexpectedly as she considers it. This _isn’t_ Archie. This is Jughead. He’s her best friend. And this is supposed to be – his exact words – a redo of her ‘first time,’ and this is something that she’s _never_ done before, so it’s virginal, sort of? But she trusts him completely, so she says simply, “Okay.”

 

Betty goes limp as he parts her legs; she is both lithe and graspable beneath him as his hands and lips move downwards to chase her pleasure. He licks into her, alternating between _that_ and using his fingers. What starts out good soon becomes, yes, oh yes – _and_ , holy shit, his name is on the tip of her tongue. She decides she needs more – more of _this_ , and, for the first time, she develops a resounding ache that needs to be filled. When she can’t take it any longer she yanks at his boxers, pulling them down past his length, brushing her fingers against his tip. ‘I need _you_ , Jug,’ her wordless gesture says, giving him permission to go further. He pulls them off in compliance and attempts to roll off the bed to get a condom, but Betty grabs his hand shakes her head. She needs this to _feel_ real, to be real - no barriers, just skin.

 

“I’m on the pill, Jug. In in case you’re wondering, I used protection with him.” Betty’s voice trails off. She doesn’t want to mention Archie, the other man, but then she realizes such a thought is ridiculous. They aren’t even together like that; she’s also decided to throw all caution to the wind, to ignore the implications of what they’re about to do – as if this won’t change everything. But when you’re about to have sex with your best friend you sort of have to mention these things, right?

 

“I wasn’t, Betts.” He strokes her face with his fingers. He kisses her, nipping and licking at her bottom lip, which causes Betty to cry feebly as his lips move down her throat.

 

She lays there against the sheets as he kisses her neck, waiting for what’s about to happen next. She wonders what he’ll feel like. Will he feel like _nothing_ , too? But Betty is so wrong as he begins to rub himself against her. His tip is tender, but hardened. Then, he does something which throws her for a loop. He grabs the long pillow next to her and places it beneath her pelvis and pulls her forward. She feels a rush all at once as he inches closer – she remembers that Archie felt like nothing – but he’s Jughead, he’s her best friend and – _oh_. He rubs himself up top again. Betty gasps.

 

“You’re sure, Betts?” He asks once more. He need _s_ to be sure. He ignores the voice in the back of his head saying _you should really stop_ and _dude, what the hell are you doing – does she even know you’re in love with her? For god sakes, tell her how you feel!_

 

“Yes.”

 

She nods to reassure him. She wants this with him. He hikes her legs up around him before pushing into her – he slips inside gently – and _oh_ , Betty thinks, there is a discernible difference that wasn’t there before once he’s inside and he begins to thrust. He pulls in and out gently at first, asking her if she’s ‘okay.’ _She’s never felt so full, so sated in all her life._ She responds with a quick nod of her head as her eyes shut and he picks up the pace. And he feels just, _so – surely, she knows a better word for this, she thinks as he fucks her._ When he goes a little quicker, she starts to feel so good that she wonders if she and Archie had _actual_ sex in the first place. _Did they?_ _Because this feels all kinds of good._

 

And. He. Feels. So. Good.

 

He fills her up like he is her _everything_ , her black pleasure hole pulling him into her further. She can feel as he hits her up there, pulsing into her over and over and it is, Betty thinks, for lack of a better description in this _very_ intimate moment with _him_ \- her best friend since forever - _so good_. It wasn’t like this with Archie _at all_. Betty begins to moan – she feels all balmy and chilled, the two feelings united, coming together as this feeling spreads below her waist; she wonders how such a juxtaposition is even humanly possible _– is there such a thing as cold fire?_ And as he comes in her, painting her insides white, he says ‘look at me, Betts,’ and she does. She looks up at him, watching his face, feeling him as he’s thrusting into her. He smiles down at her, watching her face change as her breath hitches, kissing her as he fucks her. Then, he lifts his head up, looks down and quickly rubs his thumb against her clit. All at once it’s just – _yes_. She revels in the feeling, his thrusts go deeper and harder; he’s panting – _but she’s panting even harder -_ a silent scream resounds from her throat; she clenches against him suddenly, her muscles wrapping around him _and then_ \--

 

She cries his name and her eyes shut.

___

 

 

 

_**So, I've never written anything like this before.** _

_**If you enjoyed this, please comment. <3** _

 


	3. i feel each move you make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, they're really doing this. 
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> Or, Betty Cooper doesn't understand her feelings. But he asks, wanna go again?

_I hold on to your body_

_And feel each move you make_

_Your voice is warm and tender_

_A love that I could not forsake_

 

**-The Power of Love, Jennifer Rush**

 

Like many, Betty Cooper had a clear vision in her mind of what her “first time” would look and (hopefully) feel like. In any instance, she hoped it would be satisfying and unhurried – _and_ , if she really had met “the one,” then losing her virginity _might_ be something worth remembering. She always hoped that whoever _he_ was, that he would treat the post-coital act with as much deference as the act itself. It was an expectation she had which was, in hindsight, wishful thinking on her part, bred from naivety and an overactive imagination. After her night with Archie – _the asshole who deflowered her_ , Andrews – she came to the stark realization that she had read one too many romance novels.

 

But then, Jughead happened.

 

 

 

 

He does literally everything in the way she originally envisioned it. He holds her afterwards; kissing her, cuddling her – holding her _oh so close_. His plan _did_ work, technically; she’s already forgotten Archie (not that there was anything memorable about _that_ anyways; it was mostly just a big disappointment, a one and done and a ‘what the hell am I still doing here’ kind of thing). But _this_. It’s different with him somehow. Almost inexplicable. The way he made love to her felt like a cathartic release as he came inside her, his blue eyes darkening with some unfathomable expression as they kissed.

 

At present, she’s enjoying the way he’s attending to her unspoken need to be held afterwards, which (she assumes) is due to the influx of love-making hormones in her body, their duty to sate her as her first orgasm hit. She wonders what this feeling is in the moment, this periphery of satiation, the one she can’t quite place. It’s _almost_ déjà vu. She’s had it once before - it usually enveloped her when they were cuddling on the couch. But alas, the feeling left her, fleeing like a fleeting and ephemeral thing.

 

“God, you’re beautiful.” He says as he looks at her, running his hand across her cheek.

 

Maybe it’s the way he says it, the way he’s looking at her ( _or_ maybe it’s the fact that they’re both stark naked beneath his sheets), but either way, Betty hasn’t heard that from anyone in so long. She’s obviously been needing some type of affirmation, someone to say that she _is_ in fact pretty; he’s just given her that and for once, she actually feels desirable. She looks up at Jughead and he’s so serious in this moment – her broody, sardonic best friend, who rarely let’s anyone in, let alone allows anyone to see a more intimate side of him (well, except _her_ on rare occasions). And yet, _here they are_ , in the midst of post-coital cuddling.

 

She leans in to press a kiss against his mouth once more. When she pulls away he wraps his hand around her neck and kisses her deeply, weaving his lips atop hers. They both begin to shift, their bodies dangerously close, begging to meet again. Betty feels his hardness brush against her leg; she gasps as he begins to run his hand down her body as they kiss. Now, thanks to him, she knows exactly how _that_ feels - like hot, sticky sugar, but a tangible feeling, sweetly coating her insides and heart. She inadvertently lets out a whimper, which causes him to stick his tongue down her throat. They kiss and kiss and Betty’s legs part for him almost automatically. When she feels him rub against her, she pushes against him; her body is running on auto-pilot and she is loath to stop it. Her lips part as she feels him slip inside of her.

 

“Oh god,” is all she manages to choke out in the moment.

 

He rocks into her harder, kissing her again before whispering, “I want to make you come.”

 

He kisses her as his hands move down the length of her waist, pulling her hips flush against his as he fucks her. He wants to fuck the sadness out of her, love her, make her see stars.

 

She comes embarrassingly fast.

 

 

 

 

 

When they’re done, he holds her close again, wrapping his arms around her like she’s a part of him now. Betty shuts her eyes and feels his lips brush against her eyelids. She already knows her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen from being so satiated by him. If ever Betty Cooper was at a loss for words, this is one of those rare times. She never knew it could be like _this_ and the feeling is, for lack of a better word, overwhelming.

 

He asks her to breakfast. But they shower first, kissing and kissing as the water splays above them, satiating their hair in wetness as their tongues and limbs explore one another. Betty’s feeling wistful and reminiscent; this day reminds her of a thousand other days they’d spent together. They would shower and leave early, before the larks sang or dew had faded from his car, to get omelets and strong coffees. Only this time, she supposes, they’ve added a layer ( _or three_ ) to their morning routine. Kissing. Cuddling. _Sex_.

 

They don’t talk too much in the shower. Instead, Jughead washes her in between kissing her. Betty, who is not one for standing still for too long (thanks to her anxiety disorder among other things), decides to return the favor by washing his hair. She grabs the bottle of blue shampoo beside him and pours a small amount of fluid against her palm. He raises an eyebrow at her as her palms attack his scalp; she suds his black curls so that they’re thick and laden with soap. He shoots her a questioning look when she doesn’t let him rinse his hair off. Instead, she pulls his hair in between her hands, making his inky black locks stick up in every direction. She giggles furiously; he rolls his eyes playfully when he realizes what she’s doing. He rinses his hair out quickly and grabs her before she can back into the corner of the shower. He slides his hands beneath her back. They kiss like that, with their fronts pressed gently against one another.

 

After they towel off, Betty takes her towel and rubs it on his head, mussing up his hair once more.

 

“Again with the hair?” Jughead says, as if he really means to say is, ‘you are so annoying, _but_ I’m actually enjoying this a lot more than I’m letting on so don’t stop, _please_.’

 

Betty just laughs. She’s feeling all sorts of happy today.

 

“What is with your fixation on my hair today, Betts? Do you have a hair kink or something?”

 

“What, no,” Betty scowls.

 

“If you say so.”

 

 

 

 

 

Before they pull out of the driveway, they spend several minutes in silence as the car’s engine warms up. Now that Betty’s head is less clouded from what she assumes was an orgasm induced stupor earlier, she begins to think. She wonders if this will change anything between them. Is she supposed to act differently now? Like when they return from the grocery store later, after they’ve had omelets and their coffees, does she shower with him that evening? Do they continue to shower alone? But she’ll still be sleeping in his bed, _so_ \---

 

“You ready, Betts?”

 

“Hmm.” Betty turns to look at him, temporarily forgetting what she was thinking about in the first place.

 

“Breakfast.” He chides, “You _still_ want to get breakfast with me, right?” He smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

 

“Yeah,” Betty smiles. There’s a pregnant pause before she says, “Absolutely.” She finds that she’s thinking of him now in other ways. It’s a first, but she doesn’t chase the idea from her mind. And she doesn’t want to admit it to herself just yet, those deeply repressed feelings for him she buried long ago, almost erupt, threatening to ruin whatever this is between them. _Best friends with benefits?_ She thinks of school and they stop almost instantaneously. But as the Shakespearian adage goes - the _truth will out_ eventually.

 

Before pulling the car into the driveway, Jughead leans in to kiss her. It’s a soft, slow kiss that leaves her a bit bewildered as the car veers down the sidewalk. As they drive to the diner, Jughead reaches over to grab her hand and hold it in his. They drive like that for the remainder of the commute.

 

Neither of them say much at breakfast, not because there isn’t anything to say (there’s a lot left unsaid, especially on Jughead’s end – the inevitable that will surface later such as, _‘What are we, Betty? Do you like me? Because I’m in love with you’_ ). Instead, they put off all heavy-laden talk aside for another time to enjoy their breakfast that cold, quiet morning. But there is a new development though; Betty, who is normally exacting and fastidious in her interactions with friends (for her mother had always put pressure on her to ‘be social’ and ‘mild-mannered’ with her peers), finds that, for the first time _ever_ , she is unable to look him in the eye.

 

They take their coffees to go.

 

 

 

 

 

He holds her hand as they walk into the grocery store together. Suddenly, as they’re walking in unison ( _and_ he’d still not let go of her hand), Betty becomes hyper aware of her surroundings. They’re _here_ , in a grocery store. After having sex _and_ eating breakfast together, they are now shopping for something to cook for dinner – a dinner which they’ll be sharing later that night. _Together._ They’ll subsequently be sharing _his_ bed – _will they be sharing each other too?_ It all feels very domestic suddenly and Betty, unsure of how to act or respond, breaks away from him with a forced smile, yelling ‘be right back’ as she wrangles a shopping cart and gathers her wits about her.

 

She tells herself, ‘it’s fine.’ _It’s just Jughead._ They do this all the time. But her attempt to reassure herself is ruined by her own intrusive thoughts that say otherwise: ‘No, Betty, you do not do _this_ all the time - _sleeping with your best friend before breakfast_ – _twice_.’

 

She veers the cart in his direction, stops and smiles as he puts her coffee cup into the shopping carts drink holder.

 

“Is everything alright, Betts?” He smiles – it’s the same, familiar smile that he’s always had, the one that seems to surface around her more than others.

 

“What?” Betty watches as his hair falls over his eyes in much the same manner that it did last night when –

 

“Are you sure everything’s okay, Betts?” Be places a hand on her shoulder, as if that’s going to allay her tension – a tension that he doesn’t realize he is the exacting cause of.

 

“Yes!” She digresses, adding quickly, “Um, let’s grab something for dinner and head home.” It’s a tangential answer to his question because she honestly doesn’t know how to respond. _It she okay?_ Objectively, yes. Long-term? Hopefully.

 

“ _Okay_.” Jughead says, drawing out the word. He smirks and walks over in the direction of the coffee and milk.

 

Her anxiety quells momentarily as she walks around the length of the store. She distracts herself by looking at every single tea the store carries. Lemon. Hibiscus. _Cardamom!_ When she’s made a selection, she heads over to the poultry section. Jughead reemerges minutes later carrying her favorite kind of coffee ( _but of course he is_ ) and a take n’ bake meal that ‘ _feeds two_.’

 

 _Two._ It means a pair, a set – _a couple_.

 

“I got us the same thing we had last weekend, Betts. Pre-cooked lasagna in all it’s saturated, frozen glory. It’s practically a rite of passage for grad students to live off this stuff, no?” He grins and slides the metal pan into the cart.

 

“Oh, right. _Right_.” She’s perseverating out of nervousness. But what, she asks herself, is there to be nervous about? It’s _just Jughead_. They do _this_ – languid, weekend shopping trips together all the time. She shakes off the feeling as they head to the checkout counter.

 

But when she realizes that she’s forgotten the milk, Jughead, who is _always_ one step ahead of her (or so it seems) says reassuringly, “Already got it, Betts.” Relieved, she smiles graciously.

 

He places his hand on top of hers as she holds the shopping cart and their place in line. After a beat, she smiles back at him. He smiles warmly, leaning in to her to brush a chaste kiss against her lips.

 

 

 

 

 

When they return home, Jughead makes a joke about ‘being the man of the house,’ as he carries the heavier bags inside from the car and puts all the groceries away; she watches for a minute and bites her lip. _The man of their house?_ The unintentional domesticity in his statement caught her off guard for a moment, so she looks around for a distraction. _Dirty dishes, this works!_ Betty turns around to rinse the plates in the sink and loads the dishwasher in silence. When she’s done, she turns it on, filling the room with a low-whooshing sound. She goes into her room to change into black legging and a large shirt. When she returns to the living room, she sees Jughead sitting at the kitchen table. He looks at her, smiles, and goes back to typing. He has a pile of books next to his computer – his dissertation, probably, so she doesn’t want to bother him. Even though they _need_ to talk, should talk – no, she decides, they’ll keep ignoring _this_ indefinitely. Instead, she settles onto the couch and grabs a textbook. She’s been putting of work for far too long now and it is simply time. As she cracks open the binding of her overpriced textbook she hears Jughead put the lasagna in the oven.

 

 

Betty is still reading her textbook when she hears Jughead behind her, “Need a break, Juliet?”

 

Betty turns around to see his aqua eyes staring down at her. She takes a moment read his expression and has a fleeting thought – he looks ( _dare she even go there_ ) besotted – but then she chases the thought away as an absurdity, a complete one-off. She and Jughead have been friends for a long time now and Betty Cooper assures herself that the look on his face is not _that_. It can’t be, right? No. Betty Cooper would have noticed such a thing by now.

 

“Okay.” She says.

 

He walks around the expanse of the couch as she closes her laptop and sits right beside her. After he turns on the tv, he pulls her into him and covers them both with a blanket. Betty decides that they should _probably_ talk, but as soon as she turns to look at him, he leans down and presses the gentlest kiss against her mouth. _Oh._ Betty sighs and sinks into his chest. The kiss felt _almost_ proprietary. _But why? Jughead doesn’t like her that way, they’re friends_.

 

A few minutes later, Betty feels Jughead’s fingers tangle in her hair, she succumbs to his touch and decides to stop overthinking things.

 

After dinner, Betty is still unsure of what her next course of action should be. Should she still be sleeping in his bed after what happened? But there was no reason not to. So, rather than overthink the situation, something that Betty Cooper did often, she simple does what she always does. She settles down for the evening, a routine of work and sleep, following by lounging with Jughead in his bed. She washes her face with a micellar wipe, throws on pajamas, only this time – before going into Jughead’s room – she takes a quick glance in her bedroom mirror. She doesn’t look any different, but she is _feeling_ different. Even the atmosphere in the house had intensified, so much so that it seemed almost tangible. What was this _I-can’t-think-straight_ , feeling inside of her stomach? Betty takes a deep breath and walks down the hallway towards Jughead’s bedroom.

 

When she opens the door, he’s already in bed, shirtless (as per usual, which was good, Betty decided, _this is their normal routine_ ), and is wearing nothing but his plaid boxers. He must have heard the hinges on the door creak (that, or he could practically feel her heart beating faster) because he looks up straightaway. When their eyes met, Betty can’t make out what he’s thinking at all; his impenetrable gaze and inscrutable countenance give little away. But that’s just him, Betty thinks. _He’s always been a little hard to read. It’s fine._

“Hey.”

 

“Hi.”

 

Betty crawls into bed and pulls the covers over her legs. Jughead immediately grabs her by the waist and pulls her onto him. Betty thinks all is well – things are normal again – but then, right as he turns the lights off, just before they fall asleep—

 

He kisses her.

 

 

 

 

 

Betty wakes up to the sound of her phone buzzing. Meanwhile, Jughead is spooning her, with his arm curled against her waist possessively. Betty grabs her phone and sits up in the bed as Jughead moves his arm and mumbles, ‘what time is it.’ Betty gives her green eyes a moment to adjust as she places the phone in front of them.

 

**_Hey Betty. Dinner tonight, my place? -Archie_ **

****

“What the hell,” She says aloud, her voice breaking. After days and days of rote silence, Archie (the asshole) Andrews is texting her.

 

“What is it,” Jughead says, sitting up straight to see what she’s looking at. He rubs his eyes and shakes himself from his slumber.

 

“Jug,” She hands him the phone as tears threaten to ruin her morning.

 

Jughead furrows his brow, his face a mix of loathing and confusion. “Do _not_ call him, Betts.” After what happened –

 

He stops himself from saying it allowed, ‘he took your virginity, technically,’ worried that saying such a thing is decidedly unhelpful in this moment and would serve no other purpose than to upset her, so he says quickly, “ _He_ should have called you days ago, Betty. There is no excuse for this. He’s an asshole.”

 

“But why is he calling me now, Jug?” Betty’s eyes feel wet already.

 

He looks angrily at the phone again and tosses it aside. Meanwhile, Betty begins to cry.

 

“Don’t cry Betts,” He says, placing his hand against her neck, his thumb wiping away the moisture beneath her eyes. “It will be okay.” He wants to soothe her, take away her pain, _make love to her._

 

But the tears they do not cease. Sensing an impending meltdown, Jughead pulls Betty out of his bed veering their bodies toward the direction of the shower. Betty doesn’t think as he pulls her pajamas off and slips out of his. She’s still crying when they’re inside the shower together – naked again – when Jughead pulls her chin up and says, “Look at me, Betts.”

 

“What?”

 

He kisses her and whispers in her ear, “Let me make it better.”

 

She nods and watches him as he kisses down her body, dragging his lips against her, only kneeling when his lips stop at her naval. He looks up at her and then proceeds to shut his eyes and kiss her stomach, her sobs breaking as she watches him curiously. ‘Don’t cry,’ he murmurs, his thumbs skimming her hipbones as Betty’s eyes look on. He pushes his hand into the middle of her legs to part them. She lets out a final, dispirited, sob as he kisses her thigh; he looks up at her, eyes willing her to stop crying as he licks into her. Betty writhes above him and he goes in harder, angling his tongue as he watches her expression change.

 

After she comes, they don’t bother toweling off; instead, Betty presses the deepest of kisses against his pale lips, each kiss laden with gratitude. His lips press back for more; they dance above and below hers – sometimes moving past her lips to her face, her neck, and other pink-tinged areas that require his undivided attention.

 

They’re still kissing as they stumble onto his mattress. Her hands tangle in his hair as he kisses her, whispering ‘you are _so_ beautiful,’ against her bare skin and soon Betty’s whispering too – ‘ _yes, Jug, yes_ ,’ as he slips himself inside her; they end up having sex on top of his duvet comforter, with Betty’s legs curled tightly around his waist as he thrusts into her with more intensity than the first time – _and_ , for about two minutes, he fucks her so hard that she forgets Archie Andrews and his ill-timed text completely. She cries his name like a benediction as she comes beneath him.

 

After that, there is no more crying.

 

 

\--

_**Please comment. It really means a lot. <3** _

 


	4. i wanna be with you everywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends do this all the time, right?
> 
>  
> 
> ___  
> Or, romantic feelings almost surface. He's her best friend. But is he her lover too?

_Can you hear me calling_

_Out your name_

_You know that I'm falling and I don't know what to say_

_I'll speak a little louder_

_I'll even shout_

_You know that I'm proud and I can't get the words out_

 

**-Everywhere, Fleetwood Mac**

 

Jughead and Betty had both left the sleepy town of Riverdale – a quiet suburb nestled away from the resplendent city life of New York – to attend university together. While in High School they shared a singular dream: the burgeoning desire to escape the confines of the small town and make a name for themselves wherever that may be. So, applying to the same colleges seemed like a natural progression of their relationship; they spent most of their time together anyways. Their friendship, while _close,_ was strictly platonic (that and Betty would never admit that she had nursed a brief crush on Jughead well into her senior year). They were strictly friends and nothing more.

 

They had also taken with them their innocence, something that Betty Cooper had managed to retain for what she considered an innumerable (albeit embarrassing) amount of years. But for Jughead, though, _his_ invisible maiden head did not last. He sought to lose his innocence quietly in a clandestine and surreptitious manner. For his gender, by definition, had declared that he did not in fact have one _to lose._ This bothered him because he was somewhat of an ardent feminist, _but_ believed that both males and females, while equals in all things, could both lose their virginity respectively. With that in mind, he had lost his virginity within two weeks of being in University. He had of course managed to conceal this fact from Betty Cooper, not wanting to risk his _less-than-scintilla_ of a chance to be with her – _but still_ , in the off chance that he ever got a shot with her, he was going to hold fast to that breadcrumb until it crumbled into broken, hopeless pieces whose names were ‘but were just friends’ and ‘I don’t like you that way, Jug, sorry.’

 

But, he was still very much a male and apparently, college aged women found his M.O. (Lord Byron wears plaid, takes his coffee black and _never_ , ever smiles) alluring. Although he had received several propositions, he rarely took women up on their offers because, while he never treated them with disrespect (the way Archie had with Betty), he was and always would be very much in love with Betty Cooper. And that unwavering fact, he felt, made it unfair to them to pursue any kind of meaningful relationship. _But—_

 

Despite his best efforts to say no, occasionally, (when there was a full moon out or some other atmospheric oddity) he set aside his celibate trajectory and gave in to the baser desires (seemingly) plaguing the male sex. But these infrequent sex-romps were never very satisfactory.

 

The problem? It was not a nebulous one by any means. They simply weren’t _her_.

 

 

 

 

 

“Jug.” Betty looks up at him; his eyes are transfixed on hers. She feels mesmerized by the blue pupils that are starting so intently into her green ones and if she’s honest with herself (‘okay, Betty, _yes_ , he does have amazing eyes’), her eyes aren’t minding the attention either, but it’s nearly 8:30 am and she still has a morning class to attend before she joins Jughead in the library. And then there’s the matter of finding a parking spot and waiting in line for an overpriced coffee, often the only thing that keeps her sane through an hour and a half of the teacher’s adverbial spats.

 

Jughead leans in to kiss her again, his mouth determined to trail past her collarbone once more. And it does. He nips her neck lightly and expels a soft breath against it.

 

“I could kiss you for hours.” He isn’t lying. He just doesn’t know if she’s on board too. But then—

 

She nudges his nose with hers, causing his lips to curl into the faintest smile. Betty is never late for class, but when his lips cover hers again, she decides there’s a first time for everything.

 

 

 

 

 

They're running late. Betty jumps anxiously in the passenger seat as Jughead veers his car in the direction of the fine arts building. Once he parks by the wayside, Betty hops out of the vehicle, tucks her books beneath her arm, slamming the door and yelling ‘bye, Jug.’ He watches as her long legs run across the pavement and disappear inside the building. He subsequently heads to the staff parking lot where he parks up front, the closest distance between him and the library. Once he parks the car, he heads inside the place – an old, dilapidated building from the nineteen fifties that’s been _sort of_ refurbished (sort of being the operative phrase; the place still smells of old books and used copy paper). Its insides are faintly rustic; they still have the same wooden paneling around the walls surrounding the bookshelves.

 

Jughead is thinking as he walks. Serenely brooding on his own thoughts, unware that anyone, let alone a female cohort, is lurking in the outer wings of his office. His normally sullen pout, is replaced by a light smile as he heads up the stairs and down the hallway. After a short distance, he reaches his destination, a spacious office reserved for the dean’s research assistant. He throws his bag into the old leather seat adjacent to his desk and quickly logs onto the library computer. Once he’s logged in, he places his hands behind his head and sighs.

 

He thinks of Betty, his best friend and _roommate-turned-lover_ ; he knows he should lay his cards on the table at some point, tell her in no uncertain terms, ‘I’m in love with you, Betty. I’ve _always_ loved you. There is no other for me. _Your it_.’ He rehearses the phrase in his mind once more, as if the words reverberating through it, will somehow make them sound less risk-laden. He only has everything to lose –

 

 _Her_. Their subsequent friendship. Simple companionship. All of it.

 

He sighs and grabs the paperwork from the bin on his desk. There’s a lot of it, that’s good. Good, he thinks. Work keeps his mind preoccupied, and his mind, though sharp, is already prone to wander. He thinks of Betty, usually. He’s just about to turn the first page when he hearts a shrill voice from behind him.

 

“Jones, Jones, _Jones_.”

 

He turns around to come face to face with Cheryl Blossom, another graduate student that he met last semester.

 

“ _Cheryl_ ,” He sounds startled because he is. They haven’t talked since—

 

“I knew I’d find you here, bent over a book, lost in thought. Pensive little Jonesy. Rocking the hobo chic look since ’92.”

 

“I work here.” He says almost sarcastically. He knows her presence and this – whatever it is, is not a social visit. (It never is with her; he first learned that when, for the first time in ages, he got drunk with her at a bar and told her how hopelessly in love with his roommate he was as they made fun of their teacher’s assigned book of choice – _fucking Moby Dick_ ; his teacher clearly got off on Melville’s narrative-laden prose).

 

“I know.” Cheryl struts over to his desk, running her finger against the wood.

 

“I take it this is not a social visit.” He says, wondering on a scale of one to cringe-worthy, just how awkward things are about to get.

 

“Oh, it is,” She says almost playfully, “If you consider hooking up to be social, then _yes_ , I’d say it is.”

 

Yep, she definitely just exalted the cringe to a nearly fetish point. Jughead sighs, watching as she makes her way to the back of his desk. She settles on top of it like she’s a showgirl, crossing her legs and balancing one red heel against the floor.

 

“I’m bored, Jones.” Cheryl maintains eye contact with him as she traces an invisible circle against the desk.

 

“Why don’t you try reading a book?” He quips, “We are at the library.”

 

“No thanks.”

 

“Fine, I’ll accede. Why are you really here?” _And please, for the love of god, he thinks, do not bring up the fact that we hooked up in here of all places; libraries are a very public commodity and someone is bound to overhear our conversation._

Cheryl smiles seductively and uncrosses her legs, pushing her heel against his pressed together knees to separate his legs, “I think you know why.”

 

Jughead looks down at her heel balancing in between his legs. Then, he pulls his hat off and runs a single hand through his hair. “Listen, we both know that only happened one time and I was sort of inebriated. I’m not sure that even counts, _really_ …”

 

“Oh Jones. It _so_ counts. You used me to forget that little blonde you carry a torch for, I know.” Cheryl smiles. “And I don’t care. I want you to rail me, Jones. You’re the best lay I’ve had in six months.” Her tone and subsequent request sound unapologetically hedonistic. Clearly, she only wants a good time ( _and_ as she so crudely put it, ‘a good lay’).

 

“ _Cheryl_.” Jughead says calmly. He isn’t one for being dismissive of former hook-ups. He’s not that much of an asshole, “I don’t mean to be rude, but this sort of talk isn’t exactly appropriate for our present locale. But I digress. I’m not going to hook up with you. What happened between us was a moment of weakness on my part. It was pure unadulterated intoxication and gratification, so your honestly just wasting your time at this point.”

 

“Oh, fine. No sense in throwing yourself at a man who clearly isn’t interested.” Cheryl jumps of his desk and pulls her skirt down. “And anyways, I have somewhere to be right now.”

 

That was easy, Jughead thinks, _alarmingly so_. He braces himself for another subsequent rebuke from her. He’s expecting it; he gets the sense that she is not one who is rebuffed often.

 

Cheryl turns on her heel and _almost_ walks out of his office, but not before turning around and asking rather pointedly, “Oh. One last question.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Does Betty know that you mumble her name when—” Cheryl doesn’t even finish her sentence. Instead, she smirks, clearly relishing the fact that she’s managed to find his one weakness: _Betty._

 

“Oh geez, Cheryl. _Really_.” Jughead covers his eyes, recalling in abject horror that – _yes_ , he really had done that while he was mildly inebriated and they were doing that. He chocked it up to years of pent up unresolved sexual tension between he and Betty. The tension was palpable; it had only intensified when she had started wearing nothing but her (string?) underwear and a T-shirt to sleep in (and in _his_ bed of all places).

 

“Toodles, beanie boy.” Cheryl waves her mahogany nails in the air, adding, “Oh, and if you change your mind, you know where to find me and my bedroom.” Cheryl’s hands curl around the door frame as she leaves, running her nails against the wood.

 

He watches Cheryl walk past his office, disappearing down the corridor. This ill-timed meeting serves as a reminder to him to be more discerning about whom he hooks up with, yes, _but_ he’s a male in his mid-twenties and abstinence, while admirable – _is hard_.

 

 

 

 

 

After her less-than-fulfilling morning lecture on rhetorical analysis, Betty Cooper heads to the sole coffee shop on campus to re-charge before she starts her shift at the library (which essentially entails re-shelfing old books and helping wayward freshman navigate the building by topic using the Library of Congress Classification System ( _or_ “LC” to the initiated). But it pays. And Jughead is also a dean’s research assistant whose office happens to be inside the library. Sometimes he sits with her at the front desk when his shift ends, so there’s that. She gets to hang out with him and get paid for some low-key work. It’s one of the few things that she looks forward to when she’s not knee deep in an anthology (or writing her hair-loss inducing thesis).

 

Betty opens the double doors, rounds the corner and enters the vicinity of the coffee shop. She quickly slides into the line. It’s busy. It’s always like this. After all, what student can even function without caffeine – adrenal glands be damned, she thinks. She hastily pulls out her phone to see if she’s received any wanted ( _or_ unwanted) calls or texts. There are only two, ( _phew_ ); Betty sighs in relief and holds the screen up to her face.

 

**See you after class, Betts. Juggie. :)**

**Also - I know I just texted you one minute ago, but I have to say it; Betty Cooper actually went to class late. Hell hath frozen over, eh Juliet? :)**

Betty grins at the Shakespearian reference; Jughead and his overuse of outmoded expressions – _what a dork_. She’s just about to text him back when she hears a male voice from behind her, saying her name repeatedly, ‘Betty? Betty!’

 

Assuming its Reggie Mantle or one of her other classmates, Betty turns around to smile when her eyes register who was really calling her name. Archie - _Oh god. Please not now, she thinks_ \- _I can’t breathe_. She freezes and looks around for the nearest exit, but it’s blocked by two students waiting for their coffees simultaneously. There is no time now to slip out of the coffee shop unnoticed. _Perhaps she can will herself to be invisible?_

 

Betty attempts to breath and act natural as he walks towards her. But before she can say (or do) anything, he pulls her firmly towards him and kisses her smack on the lips.

 

Her mouth is aghast as she pulls away and shoves him. By this point, she has a disgusted look is written all over her face.

 

“Archie, what the hell are you doing?” She’s trying not to cry or do anything stupid, but she’s unable to regain her composure; her normally calm exterior is already on the verge of crumbling. She’s worried that if it does though, she’ll be forever known around campus as ‘that crazy girl who yelled at some guy in the coffee shop.’

 

“Betty,” Archie says, attempting to grab her shoulders, “What’s the matter?”

 

Betty is aghast. His statement – just how fucking ignorant is _he_ – only manages to infuriate her further. She also didn’t expect to see him so soon afterwards – and _this_ , of all things, she _never_ expected him to force a kiss down her throat. (What a nightmare come true, she thinks). She pushes his hands away forcefully; then, she takes a step back to create a safe distance between them.

 

Betty feels her cheeks heat. At this point, she’s so overcome with rage and embarrassment and can’t _not_ say anything; he took her virginity, but couldn’t even be bothered to call her afterwards. And so, she musters up the courage to stand up for herself. _To let him fucking have it._

 

“What’s the matter?!” She spews angrily. People are beginning to stare at this point, their concern evident on their faces. “After we,” Her voice breaks as she says point blank, _“_ You never even called me afterwards,” she says, no longer restraining her speech for the sake of observing social niceties, “How could you, Archie?”

 

“Betty, I…”

 

She doesn’t let him finish. Instead, she shoves past him before she has the chance to embarrass herself further. She feels warm heat sting her eyes as she runs in the direction of the library.

 

She needs Jughead – _now_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jughead takes a swig of coffee as he fixates on his computer screen. When it comes to writing, Jughead is both unremitting and exacting with his prose – it sort of comes with the territory (and the degree program he’s in). He’s already typed up half the report for the dean of humanities when he realizes, much to his chagrin, that the entire introductory paragraph sounds suspiciously like a run-on sentence ( _and_ conglomerate of pretentious sounding words). And because he’s a grammarian (professionally now, _technically_ ), he wants to get it just right; however, his slow, laborious style is getting in the way of his progress on the damn thing. He deletes the first sentence and sits back in his chair to give it another once over. What he doesn’t expect though, is to hear sounds of muffled crying emanating from the right side of the hallway. The noise is disconcerting; he looks up to see if he can determine whom its coming from – _a grad student, perhaps –_ ‘hey, school sucks for all of us, there’s no need for sulking or tears,' he thinks. What he doesn’t expect though, is to see Betty crying in the doorway.

 

“Betts, what happened?” As he jumps up from his desk, his three-wheeled chair flies backwards and comes to a standstill as it hits the wall. He rushes over to her and places his hands on his shoulders, “Betts, hey,” he begins to rub them up and down a little, “What’s wrong?”

 

But Betty cries and cries.

 

Jughead places one hand onto her cheek and says, “Look at me, Betts. Deep breaths, okay?” They’ve been in this situation so many times – her amid a panic attack – he’s knows exactly what to say and do; in times of crisis, he is her official (and only) support line.

 

Betty looks at him. She expels two bated breaths from her lungs. One. Two. Three. _Okay._ Betty sighs after the third breath. She knows she has swollen lips and a runny nose ( _probably_ ), but his penetrating gaze overpowers her own fear. She waits for him to say something again. This is Jughead. He’ll listen to her. He _always_ listens.

 

“Betty it’s okay. I’m here. What happened to make you so upset?”

 

Betty swallows.

 

“What is it, babe?” He stokes her face gently. Concern evident all over his dark eyebrows and beneath his lashes. His blue eyes are transfixed to hers as he waits for her to respond.

 

 _Babe._ Oh. This is something strange and unfamiliar – certainly uncharted territory for them. _But what does it mean_ , Betty thinks. He’s never called me _that_ before. But before she dares process anything that’s going on between them (a different topic to be broached cautiously at a different time – she relegates the thought to the back of her _ignore for now_ pile).

 

“I was in the coffee shop and,” Betty shoves her hands into her jean pockets, “I was waiting in line before heading here when Archie basically ambushed me.”

 

“Wait, what? What did he do, Betts?” He does nothing to conceal the incredulity and abject disgust evident in his voice.

 

“He came straight up to me and just _kissed me_.” Betty still sounds a bit flabbergasted.

 

“What!” Jughead doesn’t mean to yell (he needs to be the voice of reason here, for her sake). But he does. And she jumps because of it.

 

“Yes,” Betty whispers, “Oh Jug, I’m so upset. He took me completely by surprise.”

 

“Did he do anything else, Betts?” He always been protective of her, but this - _fuck_ ; He can’t stand the idea of a man hurting her again – _ever_.

 

“No, I shoved past him and ran off.”

 

Jughead clenches his jaw. He has never hated anyone more than he hates Archie Andrews in this very moment. Betty senses the tension mounting in his jaw - so she rubs his cheek a little, as if to say, ‘it’s okay – I’m not okay, but I will be, no need to become irate.”

 

“The guys obviously lacking in emotional intelligence, Betts. The next time I see him, I’ll punch him in his fucking face.” He says it with conviction because he means it.

Betty breaths in the moisture below her nose and wraps her arms around him, tucking her head beneath his head; she hears him say above her, hands coming around her waist to hold her, “Will you be okay until your shift ends, Betts?”

 

“I don’t know.” She honestly doesn’t. After what happened, she feels sullen and uncomfortable in her own skin – skin that she very briefly shared with Archie – _ambush you_ – Andrews.

 

“I don’t think I can leave early today; the humanities department is on a strict end of semester deadline, but I’ll come sit with you in twenty minutes. Can you wait until then?”

 

Betty pulls away from him, still holding steadfast to his waist; she nods and looks up at him, “Okay.”

 

“Just give me some time to send this report for the dean of humanities. He needs it before the hour is up; it’s about budget cuts to the program, so it’s kind of essential. I’ll try to hurry though, okay?”

 

Betty nods in agreement. She looks up at him, her green eyes bleary and tear-soaked. She looks at him once, as if she has a wordless fondness for him. Her gaze immediately moves downwards to his lips. Jughead’s eyes grow soft in response. He pulls his hands from her waist to cradle her face. He smiles. Her lips part automatically for him as he leans down to kiss her. She forgets her morning and the forced-upon kiss – this one, soft and unhurried – replaces the memory of the bad one in an instant.

 

 

 

 

 

Later that evening, a winterlike front moves in; the eastern winds open the night with a furry of sharp biting weather and thinly dispersed snowfall. By the time they make it home, the two trees in front of their abode are already covered with a layer of thin ice, although the sidewalks manage to stay free from winter frost (for now anyways).

 

Betty is curled up against Jughead on the couch. After an evening of thesis research, grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato bisque soup (which Jughead so graciously made them), Betty’s last energy reserve is longer existent; it has simply gone caput. Jughead has clearly decided the same thing because after an hour of typing furiously at his keyboard, he gets up, shuts the top, and joins her on the couch.

 

They both change into their pajamas separately. Jughead doesn’t know what they are (or how to even broach the subject that he’s been avoiding; he figures that one day he’ll just slip it past her casually – ‘good morning, I love you.’ _Perfectly normal_ ). Meanwhile, Betty, who was so emotionally exhausted from a day spent getting accosted by Archie (technically it was _an assault_ ), had gone into her room straightaway to change into plaid pajamas bottoms and a white T-shirt. While not overthinking anything (truly) she doesn’t bother with a bra underneath the shirt. There’s no need, she thinks. It’s just Jughead and well, he’s seen (and _been_ inside) her goods now, so all sense of modestly has sort of been put on the backburner for now. It’s fine. She doesn’t need a bra when their cuddling anyways. And it’s not like they didn’t used to cuddle all the times before—

 

Oh. Right. Before, Betty thinks, she had sex with him.

 

Betty feels tense. She’s hoping that Archie won’t try that stunt again. And Jughead promised her (surely he was joking at this point- _but still,_ it was very sweet) that he would ‘punch Archie in his fucking face if he ever laid a hand on her again.’ He had ranted about it the entire car ride home while holding her hand. Betty giggled as she watched his hair fly everywhere; his hat had slipped off midway through his Chivalry rant, falling by the wayside. Jughead, _her knight_. That’s what friends did, right? Plus, it reaffirmed her belief that chilvary is in fact alive and well. At least with Jughead, anyways.

 

Betty curls her arms around his waist and rests her head against his chest. She’s not nearly as cold as she was an hour ago. Jughead put the heater on and wrapped them up in a soft blanket, calling her a ‘tortilla,’ adding that she was ‘so little he could eat her,’ kissing her on the head playfully as she smiled. He’s been doing that more, she thinks, expanding his list nicknames for her. It’s fine. She’s already ‘Betts’– _what are several more?_

 

Sensing her unease by way of the tension in her arms, Jughead looks down at her, angling her chin towards his gaze, “You okay, Betts?”

 

Betty shrugs.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“I don’t know, I just feel tense like I can’t relax. My shoulders feel like they’re in a state of perpetual hunch.”

 

“Here,” Jughead shifts so that Betty is sitting in front of him. He runs his hands down her arms and asks, “Want me to rub your back? I can if you think it would help.”

 

Betty nods. She shuts her eyes once she feels his thumbs go to work on her back muscles, she arches her back in gratitude moving back against him a little, her mouth parting when he hits a particular sore spot. This is so nice she thinks, (his hands – _him_ ) as Jughead’s hands begin to roam beneath her shirt, just barely skimming above her waist. She wordlessly asks for more by lifting her shirt up partially, but Jughead doesn’t want her to think that he’s only about _that_ , so he continues with his hands above the fabric.

 

“Jug,” Betty says, “Can you take off my shirt?”

 

“You sure, Betts?” He asks because he doesn’t want her to think he can’t do perfectly nice, _non-sexual_ things for her.

 

Betty nods.

 

_Okay._

 

He peels her shirt off and tosses it aside, her bare back now free for his hands to roam and explore. Betty sighs and covers her bare chest (sort of) with the blanket, but she doesn’t leave it there. Instead, the fabric falls gradually as his hands press the skin down her back, running small circles against it. His hands grow a little bolder and reach around to the front – ‘not there, no dude, contain your excitement and love for her body’– his hands skim beneath her ribcage and ever so slightly (but barely) trace the undersides of her breasts. Betty lets out a soft breath and turns around to face him.

 

She leans into him and presses a chaste kiss to his lips, whispering ‘thanks for earlier’ beneath her parted eyelashes. Jughead doesn’t let her turn back around; instead, he cradles her chin, pulling her lips to his own. As they begin kissing, Betty wraps her hands (and soon arms) around his neck, her bare chest pressed against his. His lips trail softly down other uncharted territory and soon cover her left nipple, sucking and nipping it gently. _Yes,_ she thinks, shutting her eyes. She loves her friend’s lips; they do things for her, (things that other guys lips _never_ did).

 

Betty sighs. Although they’ve only done that a few times, each time _it_ and consequently his lips always feel _so_ good (on her mouth and other areas). His kisses always feel full and satiating and his lips are like balm against her skin. Once he’s done kissing her there, she pulls his head back to her lips again. He angles his mouth to brush against hers, mirroring her languid movements with his lips as his hand cradles her cheek.

 

After their done kissing, Betty smiles and runs her hand through his hair; he rolls his eyes and tucks her head under his chin. She’s now effectively being cradled in his lap by him, so he covers them both with the blanket, wrapping her tightly against his chest, loving her and keeping her safe as he holds her in his arms.

 

The feeling is _almost_ familial. Which is fine, Betty thinks. He’s her best friend. Of course, he’s _like_ family. Right?

 

When they go to bed, Jughead pulls her flush against him, wrapping his arms around her, murmuring ‘night, Betts’ into her hair before pressing a kiss atop her head. He’s asleep in minutes. Meanwhile, Betty enjoys the feeling of his chest moving up and down against her back. She smiles and shuts her eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning Betty wakes up to Jughead looking at her. They're sharing a pillow. _Again._

 

“Hi,” She smiles, “Why are you looking at me that way, Jug?”

 

“Because your beautiful and because I want to kiss you.”

 

“So why don’t you?” Betty offers sleepily, yawning beside him.

 

“Because I have morning breath.” Jughead blows a black curl from his face and sighs.

 

Betty giggles and leans in to kiss him anyways.

 

“Hey Betts, can you do something for me?” His hands are already in her hair.

 

“What?”

 

“Get someone to cover your shift Friday. I already requested to go home early that day. The Dean practically _had_ to say yes because of the expedited report I sent him yesterday. He said my vernacular was top notch and believe me, I made damn sure of it because I’ve been wanting this time off for a while now.”

 

“Okay,” Betty whispers, feeling the stubble on his chin. Her stomach for whatever reason does a brief somersault as she wonders what he’s planned for the two of them. This feeling – flighty and full – has been happening at irregular intervals the last few days; (unbeknownst to her, though, those old repressed feelings that she buried for him long ago just _might_ be surfacing).

 

Jughead’s eyes darken as his fingers brush her face; he looks at her, bites his lip and says rather huskily, “Shower with me?”

 

Noting the implication in his voice, _Yes._ Betty nods. _But does he mean…?_ She decides that despite being inexperienced with _that_ , she thinks that whatever they do this morning – _sex or no sex_ \- is going to feel _really_ good.

 

Jughead smiles and decides to kiss her too, morning breath or _not_.

 

They kiss in the shower in between Jughead massaging her back and planting kisses behind her neck. Betty giggles and attempts to move, but Jughead holds her shoulders firm, whispering ‘hold still’ against her neck as his hands move down the sides of her body.

 

Betty knows he’s just her best friend, but _still_. She could really get used to this, especially every morning before school. They don’t have sex (and for a fleeting moment she wonders why – he _is_ hard – _is shower sex dangerous?_ ) She decides to mull over the idea as Jughead’s hands continue gliding over her skin. Two bodies colliding again and again beneath running water – no foul there – _not_. Literally _everything_ could get bruised – _or sprained?_ Betty being an almost-mid-twenties virgin (aptly dubbed ‘a unicorn’ amongst her peers) has of course never had sex in the shower, but maybe –

 

These are things for Betty to ruminate over as Jughead’s thumbs caress her lower back. But she enjoys the fact that he holds her firmly against him as the water splays above them, pressing kisses against her neck whilst murmuring, ‘you’re so soft, Betts.’

 

 

 

 

 

At first blush, Jughead Jones doesn’t _seem_ like the type to be so taken by a woman. He is cautious and pensive in most relationships, always careful to avoid revealing too much of himself to the other party. But for her? He’s like clay; lithe in her hands, willing ( _always_ ) to be bent towards her whims (whatever they may be). And so, when Betty had first asked Jughead if she (meaning _they_ because their place _is_ a shared space) could get a dog, he pretended like he hadn’t heard her; he waived it off and said, ‘Oh Betts, _not now_. What is it with you and this fixation on dogs?  _Seriously_ ,’ and ‘Betty! I am far too busy with my dissertation to entertain a bona fide Fido right now – ask me again in the fall.’

 

And now the fall was here, ushering in a wave of cold fronts that forced them to stay indoors (and lucky for him, that meant more cuddling), he was _actually_ considering it. She hadn’t brought up the topic of getting a dog again that fall, but he certainly hadn’t forgotten. Getting a dog was all she had talked about in the summer. And today – his first Friday off in forever, he would take her to get said pooch – after all she had dealt with the in the past week, she _needed_ this. He decided that If Betty found the one she wanted today, he was getting it for her, no qualms about it. But, he wondered, would she ever consider adopting another stray? One with sad, blue eyes whose been in love with his her for eons?

 

(Even the lost boys needed a home, too).

 

‘One day, hopefully’ he tells himself as he pulls the car around the library to pick her up. She smiles and hurries to his car, zipping her coat up before bucking her seat belt.

 

“Care to tell me where were going?” Betty tilts her head in his direction.

 

“It’s a surprise, Betts.” He’s mum, giving away nothing because wants to see the look on her face when she realizes where they’re going. He relishes any opportunity to make her happy, romantic or otherwise.

 

As they come to a stoplight, the light turns green in an instant and his foot pushes against the gas pedal. Betty smiles and as the car careens down the road, passing the campus in the rearview mirror. It’s not quite five yet, so traffic, normally bunched in by this point as they edge towards town, is light for a change of pace.

 

Betty attempts to prod Jughead with questions, thinking that he’ll give in eventually and spill their intended destination. Instead, he tells her to ‘leave her researching skills for her thesis,’ dialing up the radio so that some instrumental holiday music can fill the silence in the car.

 

 

 

 

 

They're very nearly at their destination when Betty sits up, taking notice of the sign and long building in the distance.

 

“Wait, Jug, are we at the pound?!” The question is rhetorical. She claps her hands together excitedly and barely manages to contain the juvenile squeal that erupts from her throat. She begins bouncing anxiously in her seat as he pulls the car into the driveway adjacent to the building.

 

I thought,” He says straightening the wheel to put it in park, “That we could finally look into getting you that dog you wouldn’t stop pestering me about in the summer.”

 

“Really?!” Betty is all smiles.

 

_“Really.”_

 

They exit the vehicle simultaneously. Betty slams her car door and runs around to the other side of the vehicle as Jughead locks it. He turns around and Betty’s hands immediately come around his face and pull him in for a slow, deliberate, ‘you’ve just made me so happy’ kind of kiss. His hands automatically pull her back into him. When she breaks the kiss, she bites her lower lip and looks him in the eyes; they open a little as he regains his breath. He is both stunned and sated, still in disbelief that Betty just kissed him like that in public. It’s a good sign, _yes?_

 

_Maybe._

 

“Come on.” He grabs her hand and gives her the warmest smile. She’s happy so he is too.

 

They walk hand in hand, first looking at several pure bread dogs at the entrance. Soon Betty turns to Jughead and says, “ _I think_ I want to adopt a rescue dog. Would it be possible to look at those first?” Ever the animal enthusiast, Betty Cooper is already thinking of ways to be an animal activist as well.

 

“Okay,” He says, rubbing her arms, “Let me go find someone.”

 

Betty smiles and turns back around to look at several dogs barking excitedly at her.

 

A beat later, Jughead returns with the manager.

 

“So, I hear your looking for a rescue? Because we have one that we’ve been trying to adopt for a while now. His name is Oliver if you’d like to meet the little guy. We think he was abandoned, so still a little afraid of people, but he’s a really sweet dog. He would be a great family pet too.”

 

“Okay.” Betty finds herself blushing at his word choice (‘family pet’ being the operative phrase). _Is he insinuating that she and Jughead are a family?_ She feels Jughead’s hand reach for hers and forgoes the thought.

 

As they follow the employee down the hallway, Jughead mumbles something funny to her about the dogs curious ‘Dickensian name,’ which causes her to giggle. Soon, the employee stops in front of a grey crate. Still holding Jughead’s hand, Betty inches forward to get a better look. When she first sees Oliver, her eyes light up. By all appearances, he looks like a mutt – she’s unsure of his breed, but he’s pretty enough to look at and his size is rather diminutive (for now, anyways).

 

As it turns out, Oliver is one tentative, scared pup. When the employee attempts to wrangle him from his cage, he whimpers, so the employee tries another strategy. He sits the cage on the ground gently and opens the latch.

 

“You two should try sitting on the floor. He might be more responsive that way. It’s less threatening than when you were standing above his crate.”

 

Betty and Jughead drop to the ground, while Betty crosses her legs. For several minutes, Oliver whimpers and doesn’t dare move. But Betty wants to try. So, she holds out her hand, a wordless gesture to say, ‘it’s okay, trust me’ in front of his cage. Oliver sniffs the edge of her hand, but doesn’t budge. Betty sighs. She sits back and decides they’ll give him some more time to acclimate.

 

They wait and wait. After what feels like forever, Oliver slides carefully to the edge of the cage to observe the people in front of it. He looks at Betty and swallows.

 

“Come here, boy.” Betty pats her legs to encourage him.

 

Oliver whimpers and sticks one paw onto the ground. He appears to be testing the waters. When Jughead shifts his sitting position, he pulls his paw back inside the crate (any sudden movements make him nervous, apparently).

 

“Let’s stay perfectly still, Jug.” She’s hopeful that this will help him feel less scared.

 

Jughead smiles and watches her as she attempts to enchant him out of his cage with gentle words. She says his name softly once more, “Oliver, come here boy.”

 

Oliver walks out of the cadge slowly, _almost_ like he’s creeping and doesn’t want to be seen. But instead of going to Betty, he goes straight for Jughead, stands on his hind legs and balances his paws against Jughead’s knee. When Jughead pets him, he relaxes a little and sets his paws back on the ground to explore. He sniffs the ground as he gets closer Betty. Then, he looks up and goes over to her without hesitation; he puts his paws on her legs, crawls into her lap straightaway and curls into a ball.

 

Elated, Betty pets him and whispers to Jughead, “What do you think, Jug? Should we take him home with us?”

 

Jughead reaches his hand across to caress her cheek, “It’s up to you, but the little fellow _did_ come to me first, so I’d say I’m a little biased.”

 

“I want him Jug, _please_. I want this one.” Betty looks down at the sleeping puppy and pets his back. He snorts softly as her fingers move up and down his fur.

 

Jughead smiles and says playfully, “And then there were three. Alright Betts, you can have him. Let me go find the guy and tell him that we’d like to take Oliver home.”

 

Betty grins and looks down at Oliver. He’s still sleeping in her lap, his back pressed against her legs. It’s not just mere physical comfort that he seems to be borrowing from her body heat; he seems to be enveloped in her warmth, sleeping soundly as he breathes in and out. For once in his life ( _probably_ ), Oliver is sleeping securely because he feels _safe._

 

 

 

 

 

When they get back to their apartment, Jughead walks ahead of her, scraping the light snowfall from his shoes as he opens the door to let her and _their_ new puppy inside (because when you buy a dog together _and_ live together, what’s yours inevitably becomes _ours_ – right?). Oliver looks around curiously at his new surroundings, but stays hidden underneath Betty’s protective arms, nestled against them. They change into their pajamas separately with Betty stealing away to her room as Oliver curls against her chest excitedly. She places him atop her bedspread and quickly shuffles on some long, plaid pajamas. Oliver sighs and rolls to his side; he’s watching her as she watches him. Then, she looks down and realizes that she is in fact wearing Jughead’s pajamas. She surmises that when she had done their laundry ( _hey -_ he did the dishes) she had inadvertently put them into her own drawer. When she returns to the living room with Oliver in her arms, Jughead is already on the couch waiting for them.

 

Betty crawls beside him and places Oliver onto her lap. Once they’ve settled in comfortably, Jughead’s arm curls around her.

 

“Are you happy, Betts? Is he everything you wanted and more?” Jughead’s hands find their way into her hair as he looks down at them.

 

“Oh, I think so,” Betty smiles, “He’s perfect.”

 

Jughead’s hand goes to her cheek instantly, rubbing the skin for a moment as she turns to look at him.

 

“So your happy with the latest edition to our family?”

 

 _Our family._ Her mind begins to foray into forbidden territory once more. That thing, she swore to forget at the animal shelter (and subsequently six-ish years ago) is beginning to slip through her mental walls of denial. This emotional barrier, which she had erected years ago, was a bit of an insurance plan. It ensured that they would _always_ remain friends. Romance in any form would ruin that, a thought which she could not (and _would not_ ) abide.

_It’s like senior year at Riverdale High School all over again. She has a hopeless crush on Jughead, her best friend, whom she swears is asexual because he’s never (to her knowledge) even had a girlfriend (he’s a virgin too) – and maybe, when their sitting together alone in the school newspaper room again, she could just kiss him and –_

 

He leans in to kiss her and her mind goes blank. _What was she thinking about again?_ Betty lets out a soft sigh and quickly turns her attention back to her new puppy.

 

“Do you think he’s happy, Jug?” Betty looks down at him. His eyes look sleepy as she runs a hand against his fur.

 

“I’d say so. You have a way with the wayward Betts. I’m sure he’s thrilled to be here.”

 

Betty smiles, “Yeah, I think he is too.”

 

He wasn’t talking about the dog.

...

 

 

_**If you enjoyed this, please drop me a comment.** _

_**Thanks for reading. <3** _

 


	5. cuz i know where i belong, and nothings gonna happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What could a guy like me ever really offer her, he thinks. He's barely 18.
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> Or, Betty and Jughead remember when.

_She's blood, flesh and bones_

_No tucks or silicone_

_She's touch smell sight taste and sound_

_But somehow I can't believe that anything should happen_

_I know we're right where I belong and nothing's gonna happen, yeah_

_Cause she's so high_

_High above me, she's so lovely_

_She's so high_

_Like Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, or Aphrodite_

 

**-She's So High, Tal Bachman**

 ___

 

 

The evening had started out innocently enough.

 

Although it was only November, Betty had been insistent that they watch _every_ manner of Christmas movies that cable television had to offer. Jughead complied, albeit begrudgingly because he wanted to make her happy and after a long day at school, the last thing he wanted to do when he got home from work was _more work_. At this point in the semester, his head space was vacillating somewhere between, ‘Fuck finals, why did I go to grad school again,’ and ‘Is it Christmas, yet?’ His dissertation felt never-ending; it was alopecia inducing, certainly – _but_ , taking a movie break meant spending more time with Betty ( _and_ stealing the occasional kiss from her in-between commercial breaks). _It could wait._

 

They were cuddling on the couch again, curled up against one another, listening to the soft hum of the other’s breathing beneath their shared comforter. ‘I _love_ cold weather,’ Jughead thought, as his hands moved below Betty’s waist, just above her (no, _his_ ) plaid pajamas bottoms. In response, Betty shifted so that Jughead’s hand could have more access to her skin. When she did, he flattened his palm against her stomach and ran his fingers above the waist of her pajamas, tracing the inside of the elastic with his index finger. Betty let out a contented sigh and squeezed his midsection tightly. _More_ , she wanted to say, _keeping touching me like that_ , _please_.

 

Sometime before the movie had started, Oliver had moved away from the confines of Betty’s lap, curled into a little ball, and shut his eyes; he was lying beside them, fast asleep, presumably dreaming about whatever it is that dogs dreamt about. _Did they dream_ , Jughead wondered? _Perhaps._ Jughead sighed above Betty and pulled her closer, tangling his fingers in her hair and massaging her scalp as she watched the movie. In return, Betty smiled, tilted her head upwards and pressed the softest of kisses against his lips.

 

“Thanks for watching this with me,” She whispered, her mouth curling into a soft smile, “I know it’s not exactly your scene.”

 

“ _What_ ,” He said teasingly, “I _love_ these predictable Christmas movies, Betts. I take comfort in knowing exactly what’s going to happen in them. It puts me to sleep faster than any narcotic ever could.”

 

“ _Jug_.”

 

“Hey, if it means putting off a dissertation induced headache for a little while longer, _I’m in_.” He smiled and ran his fingers through her hair once more.

 

Satisfied with his answer, Betty settled her head back down against his chest. He smiled and looked down at her. _So pretty and soft._ He was just happy to have her in his arms again. With that in mind, he looked up at the screen turned his attention back to the movie.

 

But soon, his gaze was pulled from the screen as he felt Betty’s hands begin wander beneath the waist band of his boxers. He wasn’t sure what she was even doing until he felt her fingers brush against his length (cautiously at first, but then she gained some assurance that she was doing _this_ right – what was this called again, _a hand job_ – as he moaned in surprise). He felt her hand closed around him suddenly. She looked up at him, her gaze seemingly innocent as her hand began to stroke him gently, causing Jughead lips to part amorously. _Like this_ , she wanted to say as she touched him (but because she’d never done _this_ before, she was ultimately too shy to ask). She smiled and he became enamored of her all over again. As she continued stroking him, he leaned in to kiss her only _this time_ , he let his hands roam beneath the waistband of her pants. _She’s wet,_ he discovers as her fingers dip beneath her underwear. And when he found the spot, he rubbed his thumb against her clit. He wanted to make sure she felt good too. (Her pleasure was _his pleasure_ ).

 

 

 

 

For Betty, the evening was harmless enough, innocuous even. But there was something about it that was vaguely nostalgic and familiar somehow. Betty was feeling wistful as she felt his hands dance across her stomach. She was thinking about the two of them back in High School, remembering how she used to watch Christmas movies with Jughead in her room during the holidays, especially during winter break (and frankly, those two weeks with Alice would have been hell without him). They would curl up on top of her comforter, shoes off, socks on, and eat Christmas cookies that her mother had made. They were these meticulously crafted delicacies – adorned with silver sprinkles, red frosting, and white buttercream that were too perfect to eat. _Almost._ But Alice Cooper’s home (and consequently, the ‘house rules’) were in even tighter shape than the frosted tight-lines on her cookies. The _only_ way she allowed them to eat in Betty’s room, was if they ‘ate on top of the comforter,’ which was fine with Jughead. _Who was he to refuse milk and cookies, even if they came with a rule or two?_ They usually shared a plate of the adorned treats and kept napkins draped over their waists as they ate, sharing a mug of hot chocolate between them whilst watching kitschy holiday movies.

 

Despite Alice’s disdain for the younger males in the town ( _and_ aside from Hal, the male sex in general), presumably because Betty’s sister had hooked up with Jason Blossom, the head football star at Riverdale High, Alice, for reasons unbeknownst to him, tolerated Jughead. One year, when his dad was incarcerated, his mother called him from Ohio and suggested that he ‘just stay in town for Christmas.’ This essentially left him all alone to fend for himself during the holidays. (It was like _A Christmas Carol_ in real life, he mused, except there was no happy ending waiting for him on Christmas Day). His mother was neglectful as ever, but he was used to it, he could handle it. He didn’t really understand that her behavior was abusive – child neglect, _technically_ – until he was much older and attended therapy for a semester in undergrad.

 

He told Betty what had happened in the school newspaper room the next day. She almost couldn’t believe it. Upset by his mother’s distinct lack of concern for her son’s well-being during the holidays, Betty Cooper was nearly in tears that night as she relayed to her mom what Jughead’s mother had said to him. Even Alice, a notorious stoic, was nearly overcome with emotion as she listened to her daughter bemoan his mother’s indifference. So, Alice Cooper, who had coincidentally attended school with his father years ago, invited Jughead to spend Christmas with them. Relieved, he said yes ( _thank god_ ) almost straightaway. And though Jughead would _never_ admit it, he secretly desired his own Norman Rockwell style Christmas one day (the white picket fence and hopefully, a family of his own), which was essentially what the Cooper’s and their pictorial home had to offer.

 

Several days before Christmas eve, Alice ( _again_ , much to his surprise) allowed him to sleep in Betty’s room in a large sleeping bag on the floor. That same night, he attended the evening church service with her family in the tiny white chapel next to town hall. He sat next to Betty and smirked as she giggled at the elderly couple in front of her. One of them was already fast asleep. Halfway during the service, the choir played _Oh Holy Night_. Betty grabbed his hand suddenly and began to sing along with the rest of the congregation. But Jughead found himself distracted. Not only could she sing and hit the _high_ notes, but she sounded like a celestial being. _Was she an angel_ , he wondered suddenly? As _O Come All Ye Faithful_ played, he told God – fittingly dubbed the ‘King of the angels’ – that he would know whether he was real or not if he would just ‘do him this solid’ and ‘give him Betty, _please_.’ It was a lofty aim to be sure, but _this was Christmas_ and Betty would be someone’s someday – _why not his?_

 

They were still holding hands when the song ended.

 

  

 

 

Come Christmas eve, he and Betty stayed up late into the night sharing his sleeping bag and playing cards on the floor (normally, Jughead won most card games, but he let her win once for good measure). Once Betty drifted off to sleep, Jughead stayed awake in her room, just staring at the ceiling and looking at the crisp blue walls in her room admiringly. This, he thought, was a _real_ home.

 

Early Christmas morning, Jughead came to the stark realization that things could get decidedly awkward when the family was gathering around the tree to open presents - merriments accompanied by a plethora of gift giving – something his family never had much money for. The day served as a stark reminder of the abject poverty he had grown up with. But unbeknownst to him, Betty and Mrs. Cooper were one step ahead of him. When he decided to make himself scarce by staying in Betty’s room on his laptop, Betty came upstairs and said, ‘there you are,’ tugging his hand and pulling him down the stairs while they were both still in their pajamas. _So that didn’t work_ , he thought. But surely there was a newspaper, _The New Yorker_ , or some other reading material of her fathers to hide behind?

 

But as it turned out, he didn’t need a paper wall to hide behind. They _had_ bought him presents.

 

“Here, Jug,” Betty said as she passed him a medium-sized red box, “This one’s from me.”

 

“What,” He took the box from her dainty hands, unsure of what to say or do. He stared at it for a minute before Mrs. Cooper looked at Betty and cleared her throat as if to say, ‘Betty, make _our guest_ feel at home.’

 

Betty understood. She rubbed his back and said playfully, “Well Jug, aren’t you going to open it?”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Jughead smiled and tore the corner of the wrapping first. Realizing that this – a _real_ Christmas was actually happening for him – he got a little bolder as he tore into the gift and hastily pulled it out of the confines of red tissue paper: a Sherpa jacket, plaid lined. _Wow._ Leave it to Betty to find something just to his liking down to the very last detail (the upside of being Type A, he thought in amusement) – its insides were lined in deep blue plaid and its edges were framed with a grey trim.

 

“Do you like it, Jug?” Betty inquired.

 

But Jughead just stared at it in disbelief. It was perfect.

 

Betty giggled.

 

“This is just, wow. _Thank you_ ,” Jughead said in disbelief, amazed that this jacket was actually his to keep. He was worried that he might start getting emotional, so he cleared his throat and mumbled ‘your turn, Betts,’ grabbing the blue package nearby that was clearly marked with a silver ‘B.’

 

“I think I know what this is,” Betty squealed. Jughead smirked and watched as Hal Cooper grinned and rolled his eyes. Betty pulled the fabric out of the bag and screamed, “Ah! Polly - _look!_ That monogrammed set I wanted.”

 

“Oh sis, who do you think dragged dad and his credit card to get it,” she said triumphantly.

 

“Thank you,” Betty said, looking down at the presents, sorting two of them by name tag, “Here, Jug, this one is for you – pass the red one to Polly, will you?”

 

“Yeah, okay.” Jughead smiled and passed the gift to Polly and then grabbed the other box, waiting his turn excitedly.

 

For once in his life, perhaps the only time, Jughead Jones felt utterly and completely _at home_.

 

 

 

 

 

Later that night, as Betty slept soundly in her bed above him, Jughead cried beneath the sleeping bag, taking great care to muffle the sound of his voice so that Betty wouldn’t overhear him.

 

But despite his best efforts to conceal the sound of his crying, she overhead him anyways. Concerned, she shuffled out of her bed and curled beside him as he tried to wipe away his sadness with the sleeve of the new Sherpa jacket they had given him.

 

“Jug, what’s wrong?” Betty said softly as her hand came around his face to pull it towards her.

 

“Nothing, Betts. Go back to sleep,” He said, erasing away the last remnant of wetness from his cheek. He knew he sounded gruff, but the alternative – being thought of as overly sensitive – seemed worse somehow. But Betty would never judge him for crying and this wasn’t exactly the first time he had cried in front of her either. _So why then, was he so worried about saving face in front of her?_

 

“Jug, it’s okay to be upset under the circumstances. I would be too.” Betty pulled his arm out from beneath his sleeping bag and took his hand in hers.

 

“It’s not that, Betts.” He looked up at the ceiling, already embarrassed that she’d seen him in such a despondent state.

 

“Then what is it?”

 

“I don’t want you feeling sorry for me, that’s all.” But that was _not all_ , not by a longshot.

 

“Jug,” Betty cradled his face, they’re lips mere inches apart, “I don’t feel sorry for you, I care about you. You’re my best friend, _you know that_.”

 

“I know,” Jughead attempted to turn his head away from hers, the quiet intimacy of _her_ voice – and them, _like this –_ was already too much for him.

 

“Hey,” Betty angled her face back to his, attempting to meet his eyes.

 

But Jughead looked away in shame.

 

“Jug, you deserve to have a good Christmas just like everyone else.” Betty pulled his face back to hers. She needed him to see his own value, to really feel it. If there was ever anyone that deserved to be unequivocally and blissfully happy, it was _him_. Jughead Jones was, without a doubt, the softest, most altruistic person she’d ever met. He was her best friend, _always._

 

“Do I?” He sounded sardonic, his voice tinged with anger that life had dealt him such a hand. But underneath that was hurt _. And pain. So much pain._ And the steady and constant fear of rejection, following him around like a damn demon, haunting every memory and every good moment with the possibility that any moment everyone and everything would be _gone_ , abandoning him one day like his mother did.

 

“ _Yes_.” Betty said, cradling his face close to hers. She never understood why he didn’t see himself the way she did.

 

Jughead could see her green irises spin, _daring him to_. They were so damn close in that moment, _so close_ – close enough to –

 

Betty smiled and rubbed his cheeks with her thumbs.

 

“I should get back to bed. Go back to sleep, Betts.”

 

But Betty shakes her head. “No, I’m not going to sleep yet, Jug. Not when you’re _like this_.”

 

Jughead almost rolls his eyes, “I’m fine Betts, _really_.”

 

“No, you’re not. Come on,” Betty sat up, pulling him up by the hands with her.

 

“Betts?” He shot her a questioning look.

 

“You’re sleeping in bed with me.” Her voice is soft but firm.

 

“But your mom…” He wasn’t going to say no to _this_. He’d never slept in bed with her before and now, he kind of wanted to.

 

“Nursed a bottle of Nyquil _and_ glass of cabaret before bed, I think. I saw her drinking something. Come on, Jug.”

 

Jughead slid beneath her covers and lay next to her but with some hesitation. He was stiff at first, but when Betty slid beside him he loosened up. He felt her hand come around his cheek again, turning his face to hers, “I care about you,” she whispered, planting a soft kiss against his cheek, leaving her lips to linger there as she whispered, “No one deserves to have a better Christmas than you do, Jug,” she said as his arms came around her.

 

 _Dude, whatever you do, do not kiss her, he thought,_ just as Betty rested her head against his chest, yawning sleepily as she whispered under her breath, “I love you, Jug.”

 

“I love you too,” He had said above her, meaning far more than she would have ever deduced as his hands deliberately found their way into her hair, stroking it gently as she breathed in and out against his chest. She smiled as she wrapped her arms around him and dozed off.

 

 

 

 

They woke up tangled up in one another the next morning. When Jughead opened his eyes, he realized that Betty had slept in his arms the entire night. He looked down at her as she stirred from her slumber.

 

“Er, sorry Betts.” Jughead said as he pretended to move aside. But his arms had a mind of their own; they didn’t want to let her go.

 

“It’s okay, _really_ ,” Betty said, his arms still around her as her hands came up to his chest. She pressed her hands against his heart, feeling his hands lock behind her waist.

 

“Feeling better?” Betty whispered.

 

Jughead nodded as they continued staring at one another.

 

_Now would be a good time to kiss her, dude._

“Betts, I…”

 

“What?” She smiles, dropping her voice an octave to sound softer, gentler, “Is it about what happened last night because you don’t need to be embarrassed about that, Jug. _Really_.”

 

But he just shakes his head and stares at her, already mentally choking over what he’s about to do. The stakes are high. This could inevitably ruin _everything_.

 

Betty looks up at his face expectantly as a choked out ‘also’ spills out of his mouth. He looks at her lips once, then up at her to make sure she’s okay with what’s about to happen. _She is_ , he thinks. Hopefully. But before the fleeting thought of a kiss can turn into an _actual_ one, Polly bursts in through Betty’s bedroom door.

 

“Hey you two, breakfast is ready, mom said to – _oh_.” Polly just stares. She’d long suspected that her sister liked Jughead, but now –

 

Jughead clears his throat and pulls away from Betty, redirecting his gaze at the sheets.

 

“Be down in a second, Pol.” Betty says cheerfully. She sits up and stretches her arms out, acting as though nothing happened. It was after all, _just_ cuddling.

 

When Polly lingers in the doorway (presumably to ask them about well, _them_ ) Betty adds, “Tell mom were coming. I just need a sec to brush my teeth.”

 

“Okay,” Polly says. But it’s anything but. She’s so going to ask about _this_ later.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s noon, well past breakfast time. Betty is doing the dishes to appease her mother when Polly corners her.

 

“Betty,” Polly whispers as she takes the wet plate from of her sister’s hand and places it on the counter.

 

Panicked, Betty turns her back to the sink. But her attempt to ignore her sister is futile. _Shit._

 

“Do you _like_ Jughead?” Polly whispers, turning her around by the arm.

 

“Keep your voice down, Polls,” Betty whispers. She can feel herself blushing.

 

“ _Betty_.” Polly smirks, “I _saw_ you two cuddling. Did he sleep in your bed _all night_?”

 

“Don’t tell mom, okay?” Her voice is soft but firm. And she’s at her sister’s mercy.

 

“Betty, _oh-my-god_ ,” Polly claps her hands to her mouth, adding after an airy giggle escapes her throat, “You guys would be so cute _together_. I saw you holding hands at church and didn’t know what to think, but now--” Polly let out an inadvertent, high-pitched squeal.

 

“Polly, _be quiet_.” She whispered. Her green eyes plead with her sister to _say no more_. Betty grabs a dish towel and quickly dries the plate next to the sink.

 

Polly keeps her secret.

 

 

 

 

 

Later that night, Betty makes sure Polly and her parents are asleep before pulling Jughead back into her bed.

 

They cuddle beneath her sheets, whispering funny stories to one another about their classmates and their notorious History Professor at Riverdale High School, Mr. Smith, who’s clearly _on something_ and everybody knows it. Jughead says he’s a ‘Xanax and coffee kind of guy, who pop’s uppers in the morning before class because he enjoys getting high on history.’ Betty lets out a raucous giggle in response to his commentary, which causes Jughead to panic. Worried they’ll get caught by someone other than Polly this time, he covers her mouth with his hand, stifling her laughs. Betty whispers, ‘okay, okay’ against his hand and he releases her mouth, but holds up a finger against his lips as a reminder to _keep it down_.

 

Then, he turns away from her and reaches for his jacket on the floor, looking for something in the left pocket. After a beat, his fingers pull a small silver box out of the pocket. He pulls it under the covers sheepishly at first and then says softly, “ _Here_ , Betts. I got you a Christmas present, but I kind of wanted to give it to you _in private_.”

 

 _Oh my god._ Betty’s eyes light up with anticipation as she takes the little box out of his hand.

 

“It isn’t wrapped,” he says, as if that’s somehow going to make the gift less valuable. Unfortunately, he’s _still_ an insecure teenage male and even though the gift _is nice_ , he worries that it won’t be enough for her.

 

“I don’t care,” Betty whispers as she opens the tiny box excitedly. She gasps when she realizes that he got her the silver charm bracelet she had seen in the window in town last month. It has a single charm in its middle, a tiny snowflake.

 

“ _Jug_ ,” Betty says questioningly. _How could you afford this_ , she thinks, but doesn't dare say it. 

 

“Do you like it?” He’s worrying needlessly now.

 

“I _love_ it, _but how_ …”

 

 _He gets it_. It _is_ a nice gift and he’s sure she’s wondering how he could afford it ( _even she couldn’t_ ), so he says humorously, “Not to be sexist or anything, Betts, but guys don’t go shopping nearly as much as women do.” _It’s the truth._ Plus, he does have savings and an “emergency fund” for things _like this_ (things _for Betty_ ). “ _And_ ,” he adds, “It only has one charm on it. I figured you could add more on later.”

 

Betty looks up at him in the darkness and says, “Put it on me?” She holds her wrist up.

 

“Yeah, okay.” Jughead’s hands are shaking a little as he holds her hand in his, encircling the bracelet on her wrist as he attaches the tiny clasp.

 

After its secure, Betty looks at it admiringly. She grins and snuggles up to him, playing with the tiny snowflake as the two of them stare at the ceiling in her bedroom.

 

 

 

 

 

That was over six years ago, maybe seven. But more importantly, it was the very first time they had cuddled – _and_ , while he knew that she probably only meant it as a comfort, something nice you say (and do) for a friend when their sad and needing reassurance, but nevertheless, that didn’t change the fact Betty had said it: _she loved him_.

 

The first Christmas he spent with her family was one of the best that he’d ever had – and subsequently, he couldn’t believe his luck even when Mrs. Cooper said that he was ‘welcome to come back the following year’ ( _and_ for Thanksgiving, too) until things ‘smoothed over with his dad,’ who unfortunately ended up being incarcerated for longer than he’d anticipated.

 

So that was the start of how Jughead ended up spending every other holiday at the Cooper household. And now, it was sort of like that again as he and Betty cuddled beneath his comforter as a haze of snow flurries skimmed the window next to them; he was wistful, reminiscing about the time he spent with her family. But one thing had stayed constant. They were _still_ watching Christmas movies far too early (silly films he considered to be kind of maudlin but tolerated for her sake) – _except_ , this time, Betty’s hands were rubbing up and down his dick as they cuddled beneath her comforter on the couch – music on the screen began to play as she swirled her finger against his wet tip. He moaned as the tempo of the song ( _and_ her fingers stroking him) increased. It sounded something like ‘ring Christmas bells’ and ‘fuck, Betts,’ he whispered before she kissed him and said softly beneath the blanket as their eyes met ‘Juggie, can we—’

 

The evening sheds its innocence as they shed their clothes.

 

His boxers are already down as Betty lowers herself onto him, steadying herself against the couch for more leverage. She gasps at the sensation as he fills her. Her lips open wider as he opens her up, his hips meeting hers with a light thrust. He looks up at her and pulls her lips to his. _Kiss me. Yes. Kiss me again._ The pace is slow and unhurried at first, but she is unprepared as he begins to thrust upwards into her as they kiss. He pulls a cry of pleasure from her lips as he grabs her by the hips, holding them firmly against him as she rides him hard. And then there’s Oliver, the sleeping pup at the opposite end of the couch, seemingly unmarred by the fact that his ‘parents’ are copulating next to him. He’s still so young that he can barely keep his eyes open this late in the evening. It’s only his second night there and the little guy is fast asleep, waking for no one, not even for the cries of pleasure resounding from Betty’s lips as she moves up and down against his dick, pulling it in and out of her in between kisses. Jughead looks at her and smiles as his hands rub her clit, but he _never_ takes his eyes off her. _Yes, yes, yes._ Betty’s never done this at this angle (or position) before. It’s another first with Jughead. And finally, his dick angles upwards, hitting the upside of her wall and – _oh my god_ , she thinks as she cries, ‘Jug,’ watching his lips part beneath her. She’s nearly there _and yes_. Betty begins to moan – ‘ _Juggie – I - I’m’_ – she cries softly, looking at Jughead before her eyes shut; he whispers, “Come for me, Betts. _Let go_.’ But when she does –

 

Poor Oliver wakes up suddenly and looks around, not understanding those are cries of pleasure he’s hearing. Seemingly unperturbed, he closes his eyes and goes back to sleep. Meanwhile, Betty’s shuts her eyes and with one final thrust, Jughead comes inside her, filling her insides up as he moves his hips up and down, burying his face in her neck and biting it gently as he pulses inside of her one final time.

 

Afterwards, they don’t speak. Instead, as their breaths steady, Jughead skims the pads of his fingers across her jawline. _Mine_ , he thinks, smiling warmly as he brushes his lips against hers. He notices that her lips are swollen; her pout seems fuller now, a deeper shade of rosy-peach that lingers long after their bodies have separated. When he pulls away, he runs a hand through his hair and expels a deep breath. Betty smiles and he says, ‘c’mere,’ as he cradles her face possessively in his hands. _Mine_ , he wants to say _but doesn’t dare_. They stare at each other for a minute or two.

 

“Your hair is _a mess_ ,” She whispers, tugging at the mussed-up strands on his head.

 

 _Thanks to you_ he thinks, rolling his eyes playfully. Her hair is a mess too; he smirks triumphantly because _he did that_ , he made Betty and her normally taut ponytail come completely undone.

 

Betty giggles as Jughead pulls the comforter from the floor and wraps them in it once more. And Betty notices him, too. His cheeks are flushed crimson; His lips are a brighter shade of violet, a deep purple hue, which causes the whites of his pupils to look whiter somehow, _like snow_. His eyes look bluer when measured against the whites (as if that’s even possible, Betty thinks, because she’s _always_ loved his cerulean eyes). She lays her head against his chest and _just breaths_. She likes _this_ – the post coital cuddling and his fingers in her hair afterwards – best of all.

 

They watch TV for a little while longer, with Jughead looking at her admiringly as she lays against his chest. He rubs her back, tracing the soft planes of pale skin as Betty shuts her eyes. She could fall asleep _like this_ , it would be so easy and he’s so unbelievably soft –

 

“Are you feeling sleepy?” He murmurs above her, pressing a kiss against the top of her head, “We can watch the rest of the movie in my room.”

 

Betty nods. She _has_ been sleeping better now _and_ feeling decidedly less anxious as of late. It must be the hormones, she thinks. As it turns out, _sex_ is good for far more than she’d anticipated. She throws on his shirt as Jughead pulls his boxers back up. As they get off the couch, she scoops up Oliver who whimpers momentarily, but once he sees its _just her_ , he drapes his petite head languidly over her shoulder, looking at Jughead curiously –

 

And in this moment, Jughead swears he can hear Oliver thinking. _What were you doing to mommy to make her scream?_ Now Jughead _knows_ he’s tired –he’s anthropomorphizing _a puppy._ As they head into his bedroom, he shuts the door behind them, deciding that he really needs to cut back on the coffee and energy drinks.

 

Meanwhile, Betty goes over to Oliver’s new bed, a fluffy brown pad, and lays Oliver gently against its center, covering him with a soft blanket. She scratches his head for a moment as he shuts his eyes. She turns and looks up to see Jughead smiling above her, arms crossed.

 

“Do you think he’ll be warm enough?” Betty looks back at Oliver admiringly, petting his head once more as Oliver takes in a deep, sleepy breath.

 

“He has a fur coat, Betts, I think he’ll be fine.” He crouches and smiles as he pets Oliver gently on the head. Oliver must be enjoying the attention because he whimpers for more, so Jughead strokes his fur a little while longer. The little guy seems lost in his nighttime reverie, he thinks amusingly. He looks at Betty and she smiles brightly. Jughead is _so_ relieved to see that her normally anxiety-laden evenings have been replaced with puppy love – _but on whose end?_

 

They crawl into bed languidly. They’re sharing a pillow, facing one another when Jughead’s hand grazes her face. His fingertips start at the edge of her chin and work their way down to her jaw and neck. She’s beautiful _and god_ , he feels so decidedly male because they just fucked, but heaven help him, _he wants her again_. Betty smiles as he leans in to kiss her. When he pulls away for a beat, Betty’s hands wrap around his neck to bring his lips back to hers. They kiss and kiss, with Betty slipping out of her lace underwear as he pulls down his boxers. She sheds his night shirt easily, tossing it aside as he takes a nipple in his mouth, his center slowly inching forward past her legs. He needs to make her come, make her scream his name, so he pushes inside her forcefully, fucking her hard and fast – and with a couple of quick thrusts – Betty comes around him hard, crying his name beneath him as he kisses her neck. He’s _still_ kissing her long after their done. He can’t help himself. Both are smiling at one another in the darkness as he nips her lower lip and Betty wraps her legs around him. But their post-sex kisses are interrupted by the sound of faint cries emanating from beneath the bed.

 

“Wait, Jug, shhh. Do you hear that?” Betty whispers, bending down to look, “Aww, Oliver, come here boy.” She scoops him and places him onto the bed. All that napping seems to have done him some good because he scampers down the length of the bed and pounces on Jughead before curling up beside him.

 

They fall asleep like that. A family of three.

 

 

 

 

 

The next evening, they were sitting on the couch again when Betty’s phone buzzed.

 

**_Be there in ten, Chica._ **

 

Betty’s reply is swift, **_Awesome. Can’t wait for you to meet Oliver._**

 

 ** _I still can’t believe Jughead bought you a puppy_** , Veronica types, adding an adverb for emphasis, **_Seriously._**

 

 ** _Why?_** Betty types in response. She’d been asking him for a dog for ages; she’d practically begged him for one during the summer.

 

 _Why?_ Really, Betty? ‘Who buys their friend _a puppy_?’ Veronica thinks. She rolls her eyes and types, **_That boy is in love with you_** – But erases it just as quickly. She’d let them figure it out.

 

A beat later, Veronica knocks at the door. When Betty opens it though, Veronica’s eyes widen as she looks her friend up and down. _Uh, okay._ Something is different. Although Betty is wearing a long-ish shirt, her pants are strangely absent. What the fuck. She glances over at Jughead. He’s watching television only he’s shirtless. What. She takes a closer look and uh – _okay_. Is he wearing _just boxers_? That’s odd –

 

“Come in!” Betty says excitedly, holding the door ajar.

 

Veronica steps inside in the apartment and looks at her curiously; it’s as if she’s saying (albeit, wordlessly), _Is there something going on_ _between you two? You’re half naked._ But Betty either doesn’t notice or simple chooses to ignore her friend’s obvious look of consternation.

She follows Betty over to the couch, noting that his comforter is draped down its length. _Were they cuddling just now?_ And Jughead’s hair, she notes, looks _very_ disheveled. But he normally hides it behind that hideous beanie of his – _was he pulling it?_ He doesn’t have that hair-pulling disease, so was _her girl_ going to town on his locks? _Highly likely_ , she decides.

 

“Hi Jug-head,” She says, enunciating his name. She sounds accusatory because he looks guilty as hell. But _so what_ , Veronica thinks. Something is awry; she has the distinct feeling that they were doing _something_ prior to her arrival because they have this air of sated sleepiness about them. And _my god_ , she’s been here countless times and _never_ seen the two of them like _this_.

 

“Hey.” He tries to look at her – _and say it_ – like everything between he and Betty is _fine_ – _nothing to see here!_ But then, she shoots him a look of reproach that says it all. _It’s not_ and Veronica knows it.

 

“So,” Veronica says quickly, ignoring whatever the hell _this is_ for now, “Where is the little guy?”

 

“He’s asleep in my room,” Betty beams, grabbing her hand excitedly as she leads Veronica to her unused bedroom. They had put little Oliver in there when he whimpered at the loud sound Christmas music playing in the speakers on the floor. They left the door cracked partially for him in case he decided to venture out later.

 

But as soon as they’re in her room, Veronica shuts her door. She lowers her voice and says, “ _Betty_ , I need to ask you something…”

 

“Here he is!” Betty beams. She holds up the sleepy puppy, who yawns in her arms. At this hour, Oliver is listless and ready to go back to bed.

 

But puppies have a keen way of distracting even the most determined individuals.

 

“Oh my goodness, is this him?” Veronica rushes over to get a good look at him, “Aww. He’s adorable,” Veronica says, petting Oliver who opens one sleepy eye to look at her curiously. Betty smiles and rubs her chin against his fur, “He’s so soft. _I love him_.”

 

They sit down on top of her untouched comforter. New wrinkles form where they take up residence in the center of the bed; Oliver’s diminutive body marks his spot with a round orb of blanket rubbing against his back. Betty holds Oliver close, running her nose against his fur. She can’t even remember the last time she slept in her own bed.

 

“Betty,” Veronica decides to bring it up now. She can’t let herself be distracted by a puppy (even if he’s cute), “Care to tell me why you’re wearing Jughead’s shirt and he’s not wearing one at all.”

 

 _Shit._ In hindsight, Betty thinks, they probably should have covered themselves a little more before she came over. Betty turns a darker shade of pink as she pets Oliver, who’s now sprawled out against her quilt. She sighs and says quietly, “Remember that guy I was dating, Archie?”

 

“Yes,” Veronica waits for her to elaborate. _Where is going with this_ , she wonders. What does Archie Andrews have to do with her question?

 

“Well,” Betty whispers, “He and I…look, Ron, _I had sex_.” Now that the proverbial cats out of the bag, Betty sighs and lets out a breath that she didn’t even know she was holding.

 

“What? Betty, you mean you _finally_ lost your V-card – _wait_ , hold up, how does _this_ have anything to do with you and your roommates distinct lack of clothing? And _why_ are you wearing Jughead’s shirt?”

 

“Because,” Betty swallows, and says almost inaudibly, “Having sex for the first time was really bad with Archie, so…when I got home, I cried and told Jughead how bad my first time was and, _you know_ …”

 

“No, _I don’t know_ ,” Veronica says, confusion evident in her voice, “Enlighten me, please.”

 

Betty pauses momentarily; she considers exactly _how_ she should word this. She thinks it over and decides that perhaps she should just come clean – ‘I slept with my best friend, Ron, _there’_ – but she can’t bring herself to say everything all at once because for whatever reason _it seems_ like a private thing between just she and Jughead. So, she clears her throat and says slowly, “He was mad about what happened to me and said he could make it better, so…”

 

“So?” _What is she talking about_ , Veronica thinks. Now she’s thoroughly confused. She stares at Betty blankly, waiting for her to give more of an explanation.

 

“So, he said he would fix my first time _if_ that was what I wanted. I decided that _I did_ and one thing led to another and we ended up…”

 

“Wait – come again?!” Veronica shouts, _had she heard that right?_ “I’m sorry, what do you mean he said he would ‘fix your first time’ – wait, Betty, _oh my god_ , please tell me you’re not telling me exactly what I think you are.” Oh my god, she thinks. _They. Had. Sex._

 

“If,” Betty says quietly you mean, “Did I have sex with Jughead, then the answer would be a resounding _yes_.”

 

“Betty, oh-my-god.” Veronica shrieks before dropping her voice to a terse whisper, “You _had sex_ with your roommate?”

 

“And best friend,” Betty is quick to correct her, “ _Yes_.”

 

 _“Betty.”_ Veronica says incredulously, her tone laden with concern, _“You can’t be serious here.”_

 

“I am,” Betty looks at Veronica and bites her lower lip, adding, “And the first time was just perfect. It felt _so_ good, Ron. He was _amazing_.” Betty feels her face flush. She hadn’t meant to say quite that much, but –

 

_It was._

Veronica shrieks and quickly covers her mouth, whispering, “But it was just a one-time thing, right?”

 

“Er, no,” Betty averts her gaze deliberately, looking down at Oliver who is sound asleep. And yeah, they’d been doing that ever since, but _so what_?

 

“Betty, what the fuck.” _What are you even thinking?_ She’s screaming internally.

 

“It’s fine,” Betty says, “He’s my best friend, Ron and I feel totally comfortable doing that with him. I don’t think I’d feel as good about doing it with anyone else, really.”

 

‘Am I hearing this right,’ Veronica thinks. Is her friend, a grad student, really _this_ naïve? It seems doubtful. She’s running on instinct here and feels like there’s more that Betty isn’t saying, so she asks simply, “Do you _like_ Jughead?”

 

“What?” The question catches her off guard. Surely they can stay friends, right? Betty doesn’t want anything about their present arrangement to change. Surely, they can still make love and hang out in much the same manner as before. Right? As friends, _as lovers?_ The label sounds foreign in her head, but she doesn’t dismiss the thought immediately. But she doesn’t like him that way, _does she?_

 

“Betty, your sleeping with your roommate who happens to be your best friend. Forgive me for being presumptuous here, but I find it hard to believe that everything is all copacetic between you two.”

 

 _Oh._ But things were fine between them – _great_ , even. She thought about Jughead all the time. Sometimes she found herself daydreaming about him in class, thinking of his mouth, his lips. She wanted him to kiss her and not just on the mouth. _But that was normal, right?_ Worried about what this _could_ mean, Betty attempts to change the subject, ignoring that somewhere in the realm of possibility that she _might_ like him after all. She stutters and can’t quite get the words out, “I, I mean…”

 

_“Betty.”_

 

“Look, it’s not a big deal, Ron. _Really_.”

 

 _But_ , Veronica thinks, it _is_ a big deal, honey. _He’s in love with you._

“Betty, you guys really need to be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt.” But in truth – _and_ , what a weird position to take, she realizes – _but now_ Veronica is far more worried about Jughead due to her friend’s flippant, nonchalant response to the entire thing. _Poor Jughead._ It’s disconcerting. It seems very out of character for Betty and is almost unbelievable.

 

“No,” Betty says as if reassuring herself, “Were _still_ best friends.” Betty smiles down at Oliver, who’s appears a bit somnolent as he opens his eyes, peering curiously at the raven-haired girl in front of him. He yawns and drops his head back down against the comforter.

 

 _Right_ , Betty. Veronica thinks, keep telling yourself that.

 

 

 

 

 

Betty is baking alone on Friday night, texting Jughead in-between peering inside the oven to ensure that she doesn’t burn her practice casserole. She’s decided that she wants to bring a dish to Thanksgiving dinner at her parent’s house, but she wants to test it (and the subsequent dishes) on a willing participant, which is of course her roommate, Jughead. She cannot (and _will not_ ) have her mother thinking her baking is sub-standard. It would be a blight on the Cooper’s long-standing tradition of excellence in holiday baking. Cue the eye-roll. _But still._

 

 ** _Can you hurry, Jug,_** she types quickly, pressing send and throwing her phone against the counter. The light on her screen pulses blue twice. She picks up his text and reads his response, **_Sorry, Betts, putting the finishing touches on this paragraph as we speak. Once I send it to the dean, I’ll be home. I promise. Juggie._**

 

Betty grins. When she was at the natural grocer the evening prior, she’d spent way too much of their grocery budget picking up a few quick things for them for dinner (a baked lasagna as per usual, plus chips for him, coconut water for her). In addition to dinner, she had bought about a dozen other things such as chocolate oranges that no budget-conscious millennial could _ever_ consider to be a necessity (she just hoped Jug wouldn’t be made when he saw the receipt – doubtful, _but still_ ). But her happiness was a necessity, _was it not?_ At least, that’s what her therapist told her one semester, ‘You need to get in the habit of doing nice things for yourself, Betty. Even if it’s just something small.’ She took the advice to heart. Firstly, overpriced chocolate made her happy. But her best friend’s dick made her even happier. Perhaps she could combine the two? As she was checking out, Betty wondered where such a dirty thought originated from – eating chocolate, _eating Jughead_. She had never done _that_ to him and consequently, as she unloaded the items from her cart, the thought of him inside her mouth made her turn crimson.

 

Betty runs a hand down her ponytail as she types out her reply, **_Okay. But please hurry. I’ve been baking for hours and I’m in need of a serious opinion here._** She hits send and receives a subsequent text. It makes her laugh –

 

**_If I get there quicker than my initial ETA, will this relieve me of watching terrible Christmas movies with you?_ **

 

Betty grins. She knows he’s teasing her, so she says simply ** _, I thought you liked watching those with me?_** She puts the phone down and peers in the oven. The top of the dish is golden brown. _Good._ When she looks down again, she sees, **_No, I like cuddling with you. I merely tolerate those terrible movies as a means to an end._**

****

_Oh._ But Betty thinks nothing of it. In the interim, she begins chopping up a large green apple.

 

 

 

 

As Jughead exits the campus, he passes the outdoor practice field, peering once at the lights above the foliage that are lighting the grass up at such a late hour. He hears the guffaws of a few team members heckling one another and rolls his eyes. _Jocks._ The one type of human he doesn’t abide (but only because he was bullied by them on several occasions in High School). But what Jughead doesn’t expect as he takes a short flight of stairs while walking to his car is to run smack into Archie Andrews _and_ his friend, who, much to his consternation is also _a jock_.

 

“Hey man, watch where you’re going,” Archie muses, knocking his beanie to the pavement about ten feet from his car.

 

Jughead freezes and stares. So, _this is him_ , he thinks. What a fucking asshole.

 

Archie’s expression is a mixture of smugness and confusion. He gives Jughead a haughty glance and says to his friend, who’s name Jughead doesn’t quite catch, “God, get a load of this kid. What are you staring at? _You_ ran into me, remember?”

 

Jughead clenches his fist, feeling his jaw tighten. He regains his composure (if only for a moment) and says simply, “Are you Archie Andrews?”

 

“Yeah?” Archie laughs, “Why, have you heard of me or something?”

 

“Yeah, dip face, _I have_. Remember that girl you were dating last month, Betty?” His tone is terse, daring Archie to say the wrong thing. _Go ahead, I dare you._

 

“Betty, Betty,” Archie runs his hand through his red hair and said, “Oh. Yeah. She’s was really cute, but it didn’t work out. Why, what’s it to you, bro?”

 

“Betty happens to be my best friend, _bro_ ,” Jughead says abruptly.

 

“Okay? And?”

 

“ _Dude_ ,” He says mockingly, adding, “You need to apologize to her for what you did to her. Taking someone’s virginity and not even calling them afterwards is a baseless, low-life thing to do. And Betty didn’t deserve that.”

 

“Pff, okay – I fail to see how this is any of your business.”

 

Jughead clenches his fist. That last semblance of control he had is slipping. He can feel it. He tries to calm himself down one last time, but then, Archie says –

 

“ _Look_ , I have practice and I really don’t give a shit about this right now, step aside.”

 

He loses it.

 

Without warning, Jughead punches him squarely in the face before his friend even has a chance to intervene. Mere seconds later, he feels an intense pain beneath his stomach; he fights back, but not before another wave of Archie’s fist collides with his left eye.

 

 

 

 

 

Betty hears the front door open and yells ‘hey, Jug’ from the kitchen. When she doesn’t hear Jughead respond, she dries her hands and rounds the corner to greet him. But what she doesn’t expect to see is Jughead standing there with a black eye and a busted lip, looking like he’s been in an altercation of sorts – _and_ , to her horror, taken the brunt of it to his face.

 

“Jug? Oh-my-god,” Betty says, rushing over to him. She looks up at him, eyes pleading with his and she cradles his face in her hands, “What happened?!”

 

“It’s fine, Betts,” He says, wincing as his lips move into a half-smile.

 

“ _Jug_.” She shoots him that familiar _you had better tell me_ look.

 

He sighs. He figures that he might as well offer her the truth unequivocally, even if she gets angry, so he says, “I punched Archie. I told you I would, Betts. You don’t deserve to be treated the way you were. _No one does_.”

 

He got in a fight over her. _Oh god._ Betty feels wet heat sting her eyelids. She’s crying now.

 

 

 

 

He’s shirtless on the couch as Betty tends to his wounds.

 

“You could have gotten really hurt, Jug. You know that?” She chastises him as she tends to his wounds, pressing a cotton pad against his lip. It stopped bleeding after two minutes, but she doesn’t want to take any chances.

 

“It’s just a couple of scrapes and bruises, Betts. Besides,” He quips, “Nurse Betty is taking good care of me.”

 

But she’s having none of that. Betty tells him to shut up. She’s angry that her best friend, who’s normally the bastion of composure, relying on brains rather than Braun would just _lose it_ like that. It concerns her that he would get so upset over something or someone that he would just punch them in public like that (even if it _was_ a gallant thing for him to do).

 

One ice-pack and two bowls of casserole later, they end up in the bath tub together. _Her idea._ But it wasn’t meant to be sensual or a come on; she decided that soaking his injured limbs in hot water seemed like the only panacea in a situation like this. They soak in the tub languidly, savoring the feel of each other’s skin suspended in warm, fragrant water.

 

“I’m mad at you,” Betty says. Her arms are around his waist as they soak in the tub. How could you do something so decidedly un-Jughead like?”

 

Jughead looks down at her and grins, “Well, I wasn’t going to let him just get away with what he did, Betts.”

 

“Still,” Betty says, as her hands roam beneath his waist, brushing against his length curiously, “Punching him was not the best idea. What you did was dangerous and asinine, Jug.”

 

“True,” he concedes, “But he needed to be put in his place, Betts.” His hands are in her wet hair as she lets out an exasperated huff. She’s still annoyed, but she’ll get over it, he thinks. Jughead grins above her and let’s his head fall back.

 

 

 

 

 

He helps her out of the tub. After securing a towel around his waist, she rubs a towel against his hair and wraps it around her midsection. The floor is freezing because they’re finally getting real snow outside. The cold front, who’s name might as well be fucking _winter splendor_ , continues to pour in cold, damp weather, seeping in through the cracks and chilling them to the bone. Even the large window in their bathroom is frosted over, framed with a thin veil of wetness that’s beginning to collect at the edge of the glass. Meanwhile, Oliver is sound asleep in his bed on the floor next to theirs. He’s seemingly unperturbed by the cold, wet weather, ( _that_ and Betty bought him an extra warm bed for the winter).

 

When they step into his bedroom, Betty turns toward the dresser to grab some pajamas, but Jughead stops her and pulls her back. He flicks off the light next to the wall and pulls her against him. He brushes his lips against hers and Betty goes limp.

 

“I’m sorry, Betts. I don’t know what came over me. I normally don’t act so unmoored,” He says quietly in the dark, one hand coming up to her cheek, “Forgive me.” He looks at her and her eyes go soft; he looks strangely vulnerable despite the cloak of darkness covering his bedroom, save for the bright snowy-laden glass window beside them. He then proceeds to kiss her lips and _oh._ The kiss is so gentle and restrained at first; he means it only as a soft touch of affection, but when she returns his kiss with equal fervor, he really _let’s go_ , moving his own lips languidly down her neck.

 

“What you did was reckless,” Her voice is shaky as she says it, shutting her eyes as she feels his lips drag against her collarbone. She knows what he’s doing. He’s trying to weaken her resolve with kisses _and god_ , she thinks, _it’s working_.

 

“Forgive me, _please_ ,” He murmurs against the skin of her neck. He hears Betty sigh and takes the opportunity to move his hands beneath her waist. He traces the edge of her hipbone with his thumb, exploring the skin around it. He must be doing something she likes because Betty’s lips part into a sensuous ‘o’ as a light sound that can only be described as _yes_ escapes from her throat. When she doesn’t pull away, he dips his fingers beneath the towel around her waist and tugs the terry cloth gently. _Let go. Give me Aphrodite._ The towel complies with his wish, loosening its veil over her torso and lean legs. It slides down her thighs easily, falling into a wrinkled heap at her feet.

 

“ _Jug_.”

 

“Shhh,” is all he says as they begin kissing. She wraps her arms around his neck; his lips mark her lips and skin hungrily, kissing a trail down her neck. His towel inevitably falls by the wayside because it isn’t really being held up by anything other than a precariously twisted knot at the side of his hipbone. They kiss and kiss with Betty’s hands coming back to the front to brush up against his dick; its tip feels wet and ready for her as he cradles the back of her waist possessively.

 

Soon, Betty is air bound. She’s flying.

 

He hoists her up around him and carries her over to the bed. Betty doesn’t understand what’s happening as he turns her over forcefully so that she’s effectively on her hands and knees. A beat later, she feels his body drape over hers as his arms come around her waist.

 

“Let me make you feel good,” is all he says as his lips graze the inside of her neck.

 

Betty nods and shuts her eyes. _Yes._ He starts by kissing her neck and working his way down her backside, hugging her and palming her chest as he plants kiss after kiss against the bare skin of her back. Down, down, _down_ \- _until_ , he kisses the side of her thigh and whispers, ‘Don’t be quiet.’ But Betty doesn’t understand what he means _until_ –

 

He pushes his tongue inside of her, licking into her to open her up.

 

“Oh god,” Betty whispers, burying her face into the pillow as he licks into her again. She goes limp and begins to moan, grabbing the pillow and burying her face with it as he does it again and again _and again_. Faster. Thicker. _Harder._ Soon he adds a finger in-between putting his mouth on her; he licks her out until she cries so hard that she bites the pillow. And soon enough –

 

He rubs himself against her so she can really feel him (and what he’s about to do to her). She _needs_ this – _him_ – inside her _now_. She cries feebly as he slips inside of her, still clutching onto the pillow for dear life because he feels _so_ intense inside of her; he begins to thrust in and out of her, grabbing onto her hips, gyrating beneath them slowly at first as he fucks her, but with each subsequent pant, moan, and ‘ _yes_ ’ she lets spill from her lips, he grows emboldened and begins to thrust into her harder and faster, begging her to come. And when she does –

 

He spills inside of her. And as she bites the pillow and chokes out one final impassioned cry, it’s his name she screams as he rocks in and out of her, taking her to a place that can only be described as somewhere between wind and water.

\---

 

 

\--

_**Please comment. It means a lot. -Starry** _

 

 


	6. i think were alone now, there doesn't seem to be anyone around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're just friends, she tells everyone. But his term of endearment says otherwise. 
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> Or, Betty's denial is palpable.

_Look at the way,_

_I gotta hide what I'm doin'._

_'Cause what would they say,_

_If they ever knew, and so we're,_

_Running just as fast as we can,_

_Holding onto one another's hand_

_Trying to get away into the night._

_And then I put my arms around you,_

_And you tumbled to the ground_

_And then I say_

_I think we're alone now,_

_There doesn't seem to be anyone around._

_I think we're alone now,_

_The beating of your heart is the only sound._

 

**-Tiffany, I Think Were Alone Now (Written by Ritchie Cordell)**

 

He was looking at the perfect girl next door. Once upon a time, a girl like her, would _never_ have been in _his bed_ of all places. But now –

 

As the morning creeps through the blinds, its light shimmers against the frosted window, melting the snow and appearing in-between the pieces of ice; the light spreads through the room like a cloudy haze, emitting a soft, focal glow against their bed. Betty Cooper is curled up against Jughead’s bare chest, resting there like a muse draped over her lover’s sleeping body. She’s fast asleep, dreaming of nothing in particular because she is so _at peace_ in this moment. Her chest heaves up and down lightly as she expels breath upon breath against Jughead’s warm, olive skin. Jughead smiles as he looks down at her, brushing the unruly strand of blonde hair away from her shut eyes so that he can get a better look at them. _I love you_ , he wants to say as he runs his fingers tips against her slender jawline, _I wish you were mine - but how do I tell you?_

 

He runs his fingertips against her spine and says ever so softly, almost as if he’s testing out the waters – but _will_ she take the plunge with him – as he says gently, “Wake up, baby.”

 

Betty shifts above him, pulling her body upwards, which causes the comforter to fall below her chest which uncovers her left nipple as she opens her eyes. She rubs them as she turns to look up at him.

 

“Hi,” She whispers with a smile as their eyes meet.

 

Jughead’s hand grazes her cheek, “Did you sleep well?”

 

“Mmm.” She nods sleepily. After a night like that – with him fucking her from behind until she couldn’t see straight – _how could she not?_

 

Jughead’s thumb skims her left cheek. Then, he pulls her face to his so he can kiss her. “Are you hungry,” he murmurs above her eyelashes.

 

“Yes.” She yawns in admission, nodding her head as she adds, “Indelibly so.”

 

“Good because _I am too_.” He hovers above her suddenly, a playful grin apparent on his face as he presses her shoulders downwards and pushes her firmly onto her back. Betty lets out an excited noise as he dips his head down and covers her left nipple with his mouth. He looked up at her once, his lips still dragging against her skin as he whispers, “The truth is, I’m _always_ hungry.”

 

Betty’s legs move aside as he inches closer to her, laying himself on top of her gently as he laces his hands in hers as they kiss. Needing more, she slides his boxer’s down in between kisses so he can rub himself against her, their bated breaths increasing by the minute as he rubs his hardness between her legs. Finally, he breaks their kisses to look up at her. _Yes,_ she nods. She bites her lip expectantly, watching as he pulls her lace panties down her leg, tossing them aside as he kisses the side of her thigh. He looks down at her as he slips himself inside her, watching her body respond excitedly with each subsequent thrust he makes. _Like this_ , he wants to say, _how fast do you want me, baby?_ pulling in and out of her slowly as a blissful countenance shows on her face and all she can think is _yes_. They come together for a few minutes, each enjoying the softness of one another as he makes love to her. It’s slow, languid love-making, unhurried by any time constraints (they have the whole morning to be like _this_ ) and Jughead swears to the heaven’s that whenever he’s with her now, it’s _almost_ more about the act of being together rather than _just pleasure_. He rocks into her harder after a few moments, rubbing her clit in circles as he thrusts upwards and mere seconds later – _she is ready_. ‘Yes – _oh my god, yes_ ,’ she whispers beneath him; she wraps her legs around his waist as she feels her impending release.

 

“ _Juggie_ \--”

 

“Come, _baby_.” Is all he says as he smiles down at her, kissing her mouth as his hands grab her hips to thrust himself in deeper.

 

He rocks in and out of her, fucking her harder and faster than before – _and then_ – _bliss_. If diamonds were a tangible feeling they would be _this_ , Betty thinks, as an ephemeral wave of liquid gemstones washes over her with a satiating crystalline feeling of thickness – it’s a juxtaposition of smoothness met with jagged thrusts at the same time whilst piercing her insides, but making them feel _oh so pretty_. _Yes,_ she thinks, whispering ‘oh my god - Jug.’ _Decorate me. Fill my insides up._ They both say each other’s names and as Jughead follows Betty’s release, her head buried in the center of the pillow as he kisses her as he comes inside her. Betty feels his warmth coat her insides as her cervix takes it in like a fire in winter, pulling the heat upwards as he spills inside her for the final time. She’s left breathless as they separate but continue looking at one another.

 

They spend the rest of the early morning hours kissing and cuddling.

 

 

 

 

Later that morning, Betty looks over at Jughead, who, for whatever reason, appears lost in thought as his head and mussed up hair sink into the middle of pillow beneath him.

 

“What are you thinking about,” she says as she looks down at Oliver, who’s fast asleep beneath the foot of their bed. She pets him gently and turns around to look at Jughead.

 

“I’m thinking about that one time we went to the winter formal together.” He says with a smile as he reels her back into the bed and his hands explore her waist.

 

“What on earth for?” She yawns sleepily. She’s ready to go straight back to bed. After multiple orgasms, Betty finds she’s always immensely tired afterwards.

 

“Because we’ve got that holiday party coming up next week, remember?” He looks down at her, grins, and brushes an unruly hair from her face, “Betts, how did you forget? The department puts it on every year.”

 

“Oh no,” Betty sits up quickly and turns to look at him. She covers her head with her hands as if she’s just now remembering something important.

 

“What?” He watches her brows furrow, concerned that she’s worrying needlessly over something or another. So, in order to mitigate any anxiety creeping its way into their morning, he places one hand against the small of her back and begins to rub her skin.

 

“Jug,” She turns to look at him and says, “I ordered that dress from Linden’s two weeks ago and I _still_ haven’t picked it up.”

 

“Is _that_ all?” _Oh Betty_ , he thinks, ever the worrying kind. She gets this unfortunate trait from her overbearing mother, Alice, whose helicopter-style parenting is enough to send anyone spiraling (a behavior, which unfortunately, he is well-acquainted with). “There’s no need to panic, Betts. We still have the entire morning ahead of us – _and,_ given that its Saturday, I’m almost certain that they’re open until nine.”

 

“We do?”

 

“Do you know of another pronoun?” He says cheekily.

 

 _Smartass_ , she thinks. Betty frowns at his quip and blows a stray hair from her face. She looks up at him as if to say, _you know what I mean_. But he ignores her reaction and closes the distance between them. He feels her smile against his mouth and whispers, “Am I forgiven?”

 

Her eyes are still shut as she nods. He kisses her again.

 

 

 

 

Every November, the Department of Humanities hosted their annual ( _this is all that was left of our budget_ ) holiday party for its graduate students. It was there way of saying _thank you_ , he assumed – _but for what exactly?_ _Thank you_ for committing social suicide as you spend all your time and energy on never-ending research, he mused. _Yeah_ , he decided, that’s exactly what it was. And because he worked for the Dean, he felt obligated to go. But there was an upside to the party. Food, alcohol, garish holiday décor – and of course, Betty. He and Betty _always_ attended the party together (as friends of course). But Jughead was thinking he wanted it to be different this year; he just wasn’t quite ready to broach the topic of ‘are we, aren’t we – _and_ , by the way, _I love you_ ,’ with her just yet).

 

The holiday party was also one of the few times during the year that he _actually_ dressed up. The nice thing about being a grad student in the humanities department was the casual dress code – a never-ending array of hipster attire donned by himself and his peers, which was practically a requirement for every budding writer. But he stepped out of his casual comfort-zone for the party; he usually wore a pressed black suit to the event, and since it was a ‘formal’ occasion – _no beanie_. Betty, in turn, would wear a winter party dress (but frankly, he was never sure what the difference was between a normal party dress versus a ‘winter party dress).’ However, Betty assured him several times that there was in fact ‘a discernable difference between the two, which he would always tease her about by saying, ‘if you say so, Betts.’ And in response, she would just laugh or slap him playfully on the arm.

 

Except – _this year_ – he hoped that they continued the tradition of attending the party together _as more_. But that would inevitably mean that they would have to have the ‘what are we’ talk, which was, for lack of a better word, terrifying; he had managed to put it off for years now, so why ruin a good thing? It could wait.

 

But for how long?

 

 

 

 

 

Later that afternoon, Betty tucks Oliver under a chenille throw. He nudges the soft, protective layer of fabric with his nose curiously. He nuzzles it and decides it’s texture is to his liking as he lays down in compliance. He yawns twice, rolls onto his side, and shuts his eyes.

 

“Bye, boy,” Betty whispers against his ear. She kisses the top of his forehead and nuzzles his fur with her nose, which causes him to open one eye curiously as if to say, _why are you waking me_. He looks up at Jughead with an almost indelible expression and proceeds to shut his eyes once more.

 

Jughead scratches his head fondly as Betty runs the tips of her fingers down his back.

 

“You’ve spoiled him, Betts.” Jughead says with a smile as he traces the exterior of Oliver’s soft, fuzzy ear.

 

“ _So have you_.” She says accusingly. During the past few days, she’d seen Oliver resting in lap as he typed up his dissertation, rubbing his little ears to soothe him to sleep.

 

 _She isn’t wrong._ “What can I say,” He chides, “He’s like my first child.”

 

“And mine.” Betty kisses Oliver goodbye before shutting off the lamp next to the couch. She follows close behind Jughead, who pushes a key into the single lock on the door of their apartment. He tries the lock once, shaking the metal knob to ensure its secure. Satisfied that the lock is working and in proper order (because they live in _New York_ after all, and people’s apartments _do_ get burgled on rare occasions), he turns around to a beaming Betty Cooper and grabs her hand.

 

The dress shop carrying Betty’s dress, Linden’s (an upscale boutique that Veronica recommended – nay, _insisted upon_ ), is only a few blocks away, so they’re walking. As they step onto the wet pavement, Betty looks over at Jughead and smiles serenely as they cross the street together. Although Jughead was never one to smile often, he smiles back at her straightway and walks ahead of her protectively, veering her steps away from an ice puddle in the middle of the sidewalk that very nearly sloshed them both with cold, wet snow. For whatever reason (perhaps it’s the snow or the time of year), her smile makes him recall the time he took her to the winter formal.

 

He remembers everything leading up to that night – picking up his tailored suit, the overpriced, but _oh so worth it_ corsage he bought for her – it was chilly that evening as he drove to her house to pick her up in his dad’s red truck. He remembers ringing the doorbell nervously and then nearly choking when he looked up the stairs and saw her in her silk gown for the very first time and _god,_ she looked pretty. He had to avert his gaze on more than one occasion to avoid any less-than-wholesome thoughts about her (like the delicate, sensual way the neckline of the dress draped over her porcelain skin). He _also_ remembers how the gymnasium looked – decorated with thousands of tiny, white lights, but mostly –

 

He remembers it because he went with _her_.

...

Six years prior. 

 

Betty is sitting in her bedroom on a Tuesday evening. The night (and the Georgian style residence she calls home) are strangely silent. For once, her parents are out of town and her sister, Polly, is at her boyfriend’s house (having sex, _probably_ , but Betty tries not to think about that as she focuses her energy on writing). For once, she has the house all to herself and she is loath to waste it as she curls her legs up against her wooden desk. She sighs as she places the tip of the pen in her hand against her front teeth. She’s thinking. She’s looks at the wall intermittently, staring at the pink fleur-de-lis on the wallpaper – the design is rather blasé, she thinks – as she writes her thoughts in her journal (she’s trying to figure out what she _should do_ about a certain someone).

 

 ** _But do I risk everything and just tell him_** , she writes, considering the pros and cons of taking said course of action. She stares at the sentence for a moment longer when suddenly, she hears a loud _tap!_ emanating from the direction of the windowsill. The sound, though faint, breaks her concentration entirely. Betty looks up from the page in her journal. _What on earth_ she thinks, _have the birds outside grown in size or something? That was so loud._ Her room goes silent once more, so she assumes it was just the neighbors tree outside, hitting her windowsill because of the wind. She grabs her pencil and begins to write again.

 

**_I think it would be best to just leave things as they are; I don’t want to risk losing him –_ **

 

 _Knock, knock._ There it is again. And suddenly, she hears –

 

_‘Betty.’_

_What the...?_ Startled, Betty turns to the right and looks out her only window. She sees something (or, rather, _someone_ ). Jughead Jones, who appears to have purloined a ladder from her father’s tool shed below, has one hand balanced precariously against the window; his other hand is planted firmly against the metal step, steadying the ladder beneath him. She smiles in surprise and rushes over to unlatch the window, lifting it up hurriedly with two clicks. She lifts the glass up and grins as he looks up at her.

 

“Hey there, Juliet. Nurse off duty?” He wants to woo her (and hopefully, this time, give her their first kiss so this is forever known as _their moment_ ). But – if all else fails – he’ll settle for reciting Shakespeare to her from her upstairs window for now.

 

“Jug,” Betty grins in astonishment, moving aside so he can maneuver his lithe body through the window frame before the ladder teeters (or worse), “What are you doing climbing up my window?”

 

He plants his black converse firmly against the carpeting of her bedroom floor and runs his hands down the knees of his wrinkled jeans, “Did you _not_ say to come over an hour ago?”

 

“Yes, but why on earth did you use the window?” Betty plants her hands on her hips and tilts her head at him curiously. She’s mildly amused at this because he’s been coming to her house for years and has never once used the window to access her bedroom.

 

“ _Your parents_ , Betts. I assumed you _weren’t_ going to tell them I was spending the night here, right? And you did say to bring an overnight bag, _did you not?_ Besides, I wanted to make an entrance for you.” He presses his lips into a shy grin and looks away from her sheepishly.

 

“Well, mission accomplished there, Jug. You very nearly gave me a heart attack. I was busy concentrating on--” _Oh no._ She freezes. _I was thinking about us_ she wants to say as her voice trails off. She realizes that she left her journal open on her desk. Her gaze betrays her as his eyes look in the direction of whatever she’s looking. _Shit._

 

“Hey, you’re writing again.” He takes a step towards her journal and very nearly grabs it to take a closer look, but Betty is quicker (thankfully). She sprints over to her desk and snatches the notebook from his hands and slams it shut, pulling the (now) wrinkled pages flush against her chest.

 

“What are you writing, Hemingway?” Jughead smirks and raises his eyebrows, “You’ve literally _never_ kept your writing from me before, Betts, so I’d surmise to say your writing something salacious. Is it one of those not safe for work, stories?” He whispers facetiously, raising an eyebrow at her pointedly. He doesn’t stop staring at her.

 

Betty’s cheeks heat. “No….” _It’s about you_ , she wants to say but doesn’t.

“I’m kidding.” He throws his head up and runs a hand through his hair as his beanie falls by the wayside, landing effortlessly against the Berber carpet in her room. When he bends down to pick it up, his hair falls into his eyes in a manner that makes Betty have less-than-virginal thoughts about her best friend, which _should_ be awkward, but _isn’t_. The fact remains that they have in fact seen one another naked (as kids of course, _technically_ ); it’s been about thirteen years, _but still_. Childhood friendships, Betty decides, are decidedly more awkward once one (or both) parties enter puberty.

 

Betty continues staring. She’s never realized just how unbelievable nice his hair is before; it looks soft and shiny to the touch and shapes his jawline nicely. She clears her throat and quickly changes the subject, “My parents aren’t here. They’ll be out of town _all weekend_.” But suddenly, she realizes exactly how that sounds, so she adds expediently, “But you could have conceivably come in through the front door, _probably_. I mean, they let you sleep in my room during Christmas. I’m sure they wouldn’t care if you were over here.”

 

“True,” He concedes, “But I’ve kind of always wanted to climb up the window and do that, so--”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Never mind.” Jughead feels his face flush. He looks away from her quickly as he attempts to regain his composure.

 

“Where are your things, Jug?” Betty looks at his hands and behind his back.

 

“On the ground. I’ll go get them.” When he turns toward the window again, Betty grabs his arm and turns him around. He stops and looks down at her hand.

 

“ _The stairs_ , Jug. Use the stairs this time.”

 

“Oh yeah. _Right_.” He scratches his head awkwardly and turns towards the direction of her bedroom door.

 

 

 

 

Later, when they both have their pajamas on (they each took turns changing in her bathroom), they watch tv beneath her Egyptian cotton sheets, separated by the length of a pillow when Betty says, “Jug?”

 

He turns to look at her.

 

There’s a pregnant pause before she says, “ _Do you_ , um, would you _want_ to go to the Winter Formal _with me_ , as friends of course.”

 

“Oh.” He’s surprised. And elated. Of course he wants to go with her, even if it’s only as friends.

 

“Never mind, _sorry_. Forget I said anything.” She says in earnest. After they had cuddled during the Christmas break, that had sort of fallen into that same pattern _every single time_ he came over or was in her bedroom like he was now (cuddling one another beneath her sheets) and she wasn’t really sure how to proceed.

 

“Don’t be,” he says, “I’ll go. I mean, I don’t know how good I’ll be at dancing or if I’ll even dance at all, but yeah, I’ll go with you.” He says softly.

 

“Really?”

 

“ _Really_ ,” Jughead says. He rolls his eyes playfully and looks her in the face, skimming her blushed cheek with his thumb as he says in admission, “But just so you know, I am so _not_ wearing a flower in my suit pocket. I’ve never been one to observe social niceties and the whole flower in the pocket thing is no exception.”

 

“That’s fine,” She says with an airiness in her voice, giggling at his statement as he looks at her again.

 

“Hey, Betts--”

 

“What?”

 

“C’mere.” He pulls her over to his side of the bed so that she’s can lay her head on top of his chest. Her arms fall by the wayside; one ends up draped over his midsection and settles there comfortably. Betty sighs and relaxes into the curve of his chest and the dip of his waist. This feels _nice,_ she thinks. _Too nice._ Then, he grabs her comforter and spreads it over both of their legs, tucking in the sides so Betty and he fit together snugly, “Thanks for inviting me over, Betts. Things were getting bad at home –” His voice trails off suddenly; he decides he doesn’t want to go into any more detail tonight. He feels ashamed and wishes he could just abscond himself from this godforsaken town already.

 

But Betty gets it. She _always_ has (which is why, he thinks, he likes her _so damn much_ ). Somewhere beneath the comforter – as his head space vacillates between kissing her or waiting a little while longer – she finds his hand and laces her fingers through his. _No need to elaborate, Jug_ ; she squeezes his hand reassuringly as if to let him know just as much. Sometime in the middle of watching the movie, Jughead runs his hands through her hair experimentally, brushing her fingers down her locks and against her scalp. He knows that he’s teetering dangerously towards the edge of _more than friends_ by acting like this with her, but he can’t _not_ touch her, (not when she’s _this close_ ). But Betty, to his surprise, doesn’t pull away. Instead, she looks up at him and tucks the stray curl on his face around his ear. She smiles and looks back at the television. After a beat, he’s relieved when he hears her sigh and feels her arms come around his waist. They cuddle beneath her sheets for the rest of the night, holding hands as they (sort of) watch a movie.

 

The next morning is a mirror image of Christmas. They wake up to discover that their legs and limbs are effectively tangled up in one another. Except – _this time_ , neither of them pulls away.

…

(And when they _do_ go to the dance, he not only shows up wearing a traditional _I’m going to a high school dance_ carnation – the one ‘thing’ he swore to the heavens he’d _never_ put in his suit pocket – but he brings her a matching corsage, too).

…

 

 

 

 

 

Betty strolls leisurely around Linden’s, admiring the Christmas décor as she waits for the employee in the back to locate her dress. Meanwhile, Jughead makes a beeline for the nearest empty couch and pulls out his phone. He’s been on enough shopping trips with her to know that it might be a while, which is _fine_ ; he’s waited before – _and_ carried her bags for her. After a few minutes, a smiling, elderly woman reemerges from the back carrying what Jughead presumes is _the dress_ (except, he notes, the packaging – or “dress bag” as Betty aptly called it – is discernably smaller than the one she’d purchased last year). _What on earth did you order_ , he wonders; there is, for all intents and purposes, hardly _any_ fabric in that bag. It’s a curious thing. ( _Is she going in her underwear_ , he wonders, suddenly feeling his pants twitch). He shifts as he sits and looks up suddenly at a satisfied Betty Cooper.

 

“Are you ready to go, Jug?” Betty beams as she drapes the dress across her arms.

 

“Yeah, okay,” he says, getting up from the comfy couch, (which is the place, he decides, that husbands, boyfriends or any unfortunate soul _not_ dress shopping ended up sitting on), “Is _that_ the dress, Betts? From where I’m sitting, it looks as though there’s hardly anything there.”

 

“I can assure you that it’s _all here_ ,” She says sardonically, rolling her eyes.

 

“Alright then,” He smiles and grabs her hand, “Shall we head back or are you hungry?”

 

“I could eat,” She says quietly.

 

“Dinner it is. Come on, Betts.”

 

They head out of the store like that, still holding hands as snow falls around them.

 

 

 

 

 

The night of the party, Betty disappears into her room for nearly an hour.

 

Jughead, who is ready in under fifteen minutes, waits in the living room expectantly as Betty gets dressed. He plays with Oliver for a few minutes and turns on the evening news. _Is there anything on that isn’t depressing_ , he thinks as he scrolls through the channels. _I guess not._ Eventually he settles on another campy Christmas movie, but the time passes more quickly that he’d initially anticipated it would. A bit later, he pulls his phone out of his coat pocket and realizes that they are on the verge of being late.

 

“Hey, Betts,” He calls to her from the living room, “Are you almost ready? Not that I’m in a hurry, but if we don’t leave soon, were going to be late.”

 

“Sorry,” She yells apologetically. “Two minutes, tops.”

 

“What are you doing in there, anyways?” He chides. He’s amused that women always take such an inordinate amount of time to get ready. (Plus, there is the fact that he prefers Betty au-naturale – _and_ – he feels like such a chauvinist when he thinks this, but he _really_ likes seeing her naked).

 

“Just touching up my make-up.” She yells from her bedroom door.

 

“Why?” He yells back, “You don’t need any of that. You look prettier without it.”

 

 _That was sweet of him to say_ , she thinks. Betty smiles to herself as she fastens the dangling earing on her right ear. She unplugs her flat-iron and takes one last look at herself, brushing her hair into the front of her face. _This will have to do_ , she thinks as she pulls her dress down. Betty is not one for being late to anything – even something as mundane as a holiday party.

 

Jughead is still watching TV when she glides into the living room completely unnoticed. She walks around the length of the couch as Oliver gets up from Jughead’s lap, running over to the edge of the couch to get her attention. _Ruff!_ He barks once and then whimpers at the edge of the couch, plopping down against the cushion. Betty looks down at him fondly and scratches his head.

 

“So, what do you think?” Betty bites her lip. But suddenly, based on his reaction – a wide-eyed stare of utter amazement, she wonders if the dress is _too much_ (but she can’t really do anything about that now).

 

Jughead turns his head slowly and _Jesus._ He looks up to see two long, lean legs in silver heels; he looks down at her high-heels first and _holy shit_. As his eyes travel up her legs and past her waist, taking her in, he finally gets a look at that _barely their_ dress (his suspicions in the dress shop – that there was a lot less fabric to this little number – were surprisingly on point). The dress itself hugs her curves _just so_. On anyone else, this particular style would be pushing the envelope quite a bit, but not _on her_. The dress is form-fitting, with see-through sleeves and its fabric is covered with a sheen of shimmery silver-blue beading.

 

“Too much?” She asks honestly. She looks down at her waist and pulls on the hem above her legs nervously.

 

But Jughead just stares.

 

“Say something, Jug. Your making me worry that I should change into something else and we don’t really have the time for that now.”

 

“What?” He says, as if her voice is rousing him from a drunken stupor (because in this moment, he swears he’s intoxicated with _something_ ).

 

“ _My dress_ ,” She repeats in earnest, “Is it okay? I mean, _do you like it_?”

 

Jughead gets up and walks over to her automatically. He grabs her waist and pulls her against him as he takes her in, his eyes trailing down the dress as he runs his hands down her arms, “ _I_ – _Jesus_ – you look incredible, Betts.”

 

He likes it, _definitely_. Relieved, Betty lets out a soft giggle, “We _should_ go – the party, _remember_?”

 

“What – _oh,_ yeah. _The party._ Let’s me grab your coat for you. One sec.”

 

Before heading out of the apartment, as he grabs her coat from the front closet, Jughead has a brief flashback to the night he knocked on her door to pick her up for the Winter Formal.

...

“Hey Jughead. Come in, son. Betty will be down in a second. Let me go grab my wife to get the camera, okay? She’ll kill me if she doesn’t get a picture of our ‘little girl.’” Hal says, rolling his eyes playfully, adding as he claps Jughead on the back, “ _Women_. What can you do, eh? Wait right here, okay?”

 

“Sure thing, Mr. Cooper.”

 

Jughead stands their awkwardly for a second. He shoves his hands in his pockets, wondering how long he’ll have to wait.

 

“Hey Jug.”

 

He looks up suddenly and _oh my god_. Betty Cooper is standing at the top of the stairs with one hand on the railing. As she walks down the stairs, all he can do is stare.

 

“Well, how do I look?”

 

For once, Jughead finds that he is unable to utter words or articulate exactly what he’s feeling _because_ she looks _so damn pretty_ in this moment that he forgoes a response completely. Instead, he just stares at her as Betty’s eyes take in his suit.

 

 _You clean up nicely_ , she thinks as she notices the carnation in his suit pocket. She looks down at his hand and realizes, much to her surprise (and sheer delight), that he _actually_ got her a matching corsage.

 

 _I thought you didn’t do the whole flower-in-the-pocket thing_ , she wants to say to tease him, but he looks so soft and vulnerable in this moment that she decides against it.

 

He’s still staring at her when Mr. and Mrs. Cooper unwittingly interrupt their brief moment (if you could even call it _that_ ). Mrs. Cooper scoots past Mr. Cooper like a bull in a china shop, brandishing a large digital camera as she says in a slightly shrill voice, “Alright you two. I want pictures. Betty--” Alice motions at the side of the stairs, “You stand there, dear. And Jughead – what you are waiting for – _get in there_.” Alice says, sounding mildly annoyed. But because he _is_ taking Betty to the formal when she would otherwise be dateless, she smiles at him and says in a gentler tone this time, “Your suit looks nice, Jughead, very becoming. Now smile _you two_.”

 

Amused, Hal grins at Jughead behind Alice as if to say, ‘sorry, pal’ and ‘told you so,’ which Jughead appreciates as he smirks and looks back at the camera.

 

_Click! Click!_

…

As Jughead puts Betty’s coat on, he decides that he wants to say (and do) what he _should_ have done the night of the Winter Formal all those years ago. So, in order to make up for lost time (and his awkward teenaged self), as Betty turns around to face him, he grabs her waist, pulls her flush against him, kisses her hungrily, and whispers, “You look beautiful, baby.”

 

After a beat, Betty recovers from the initial shock of such a heated kiss. Her eyes are still half-shut when she smiles and whispers, “Thanks.”

 

 

 

 

 

They’re still holding hands as they walk inside the party together.

 

Suddenly, Jughead is intercepted by Dean Smith, who, after smiling at Betty and complimenting her ‘lovely dress,’ drags him away to meet one of his ‘fellow colleagues from out of town.’ He turns to Betty and mouths ‘sorry’ as he follows the Dean to the corner of the room.

 

“It’s okay, _go_ ” she whispers to him with a smile as he lets go of her hand.

 

He finds her half an hour later, nursing a glass of Chardonnay. She appears to be in the middle of a conversation with some of their own fellow graduate students. ‘Hi’ she mouths at him as he stands next to her. He smiles. Then, he curls a hand around her waist and listens, waiting for the perfect moment to interject into the conversation and steal her away. Betty smiles up at him and takes a sip of her wine. After about five minutes, he pulls her away from a conversation, with a polite, ‘can I borrow her for a minute.’ And hilariously, as they both walk away from the group holding hands, neither Betty nor Jughead hear the ‘aww, they look _so_ cute together’ and ‘are they a couple’ reverberating from the group of students.

 

As they walk in the direction of the appetizers, Jughead, who is normally quite astute in sizing up his surroundings (a trait, which he can only attribute to his rougher upbringing) fails to notice the pair of brown eyes and crimson lips watching he and Betty curiously from the corner of the room.

 

“Sorry, Betts,” He says, snaking a hand around her waist, “I didn’t mean to be gone for so long. But he is _the Dean_.”

 

“It’s okay,” Betty says, as she imbibes her glass of wine, (adding, albeit a tad satirically), “I know how much you like to geek out about the English language with him, Jug. You don’t have to pretend around _me_ ,” she says playfully, taking another sip of wine.

 

“ _Smartass_ ,” he whispers against her shoulder as his hand dips down her dress a little (but not _too much_ – they _are_ at a very public party after all). But god, _that dress_.

 

“Hey, will you hold my glass for me?” She says, her free hand grabbing his lapel, “I need to run to the restroom for a sec.”

 

“Sure thing, Betts.”

 

“Be right back,” Betty says as she presses a chaste kiss against his cheek.

 

 

 

 

 

Betty walks down the hallway, finding the restroom easily. The women’s bathroom is oddly ornate with marble countertops and gold-framed mirrors, but given the schools substantial endowments, she isn’t all that surprised. As she enters the bathroom, the faintest aroma of lavender and lemons tickle her senses. She tucks her clutch underneath her arm and enters the nearest stall.

 

Once Betty exits the bathroom stall, she looks up suddenly, startled by the presence of a red-haired female who appears to be waiting for her. Cheryl Blossom, who happens to be one of her classmates, which she knows (but doesn’t know _well_ ), is standing there wearing a queer expression on her face.

 

“ _Oh._ Cheryl – you startled me.”

 

“So,” Cheryl says, looking her up and down. She turns to the bathroom mirror and checks her red lipstick in its gilded reflection, “You and Jughead, huh?”

 

“What do you mean,” Betty says as she washes her hands with an opaque, shimmery soap. There’s an obliviousness in her voice that sounds _almost_ sincere.

 

“Are you guys like seeing each other?” Cheryl decides to skip the niceties and cut to the chase.

 

“Jughead is my best friend and we _happen_ to share an apartment if that’s what you mean.”

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Cheryl’s says incredulously, “So, you’re _just friends_?”

 

“You look surprised,” Betty says, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her dress. _What’s it to her anyways?_

 

“I am. You guys seemed like you were a couple when you walked into the party together – holding hands _might I add_.”

 

“We _always_ do that,” Betty says dismissively (because, she tells herself, best friends hold hands _all the time_ ), “We’ve been friends since we were little kids.”

 

‘What the fuck,’ Cheryl wants to say, is Betty _this_ naïve in thinking that “friends” acted _like that_. But she doesn’t. Instead she decides to play a little game with Betty just so if she can call her bluff. She straightens up, smiles, and proceeds to run her long, red fingernails through her hair like a veritable siren, combing her hair before she goes in for the kill, “It’s just as well, I suppose,” she says with a devious grin.

 

“What do you mean?” Betty has the distinct feeling she’s missing something here. _But what?_

 

“ _I mean_ , a guy like Jughead likes things wild – _and_ no offense, but you seem more like a vanilla kind of girl in the bedroom.”

 

“Excuse me? How the hell would you know?” Betty says, rolling her eyes in mild annoyance. _Such an inappropriate question_ , she thinks. And weird.

 

“Because,” Cheryl says, taking a step closer to her, “He and I hooked up last semester and let me tell you,” she says dropping her voice, “Between you and I, he’s the best I’ve _ever_ had and if I was hooking up with him again, I’d do everything in my power to keep him _if you know what I mean_.”

 

“No,” Betty says, with a look of mild disgust on her face, “I don’t know what you mean.” And for some reason, she feels decidedly jealous of Cheryl Blossom, her perfect ten figure and pretty face in this moment, so she says, surprising even herself, “Since you’re so sure of everything, care to elaborate on what you meant by ‘doing everything in my power to keep him.’”

 

“Well,” Cheryl runs her manicured nail against the marble countertop slowly, “Despite that sexy dress your donning tonight, your tone tells me that you might be inexperienced in that area – no offense. So I’ll help you out.” Cheryl says smugly. (But of course, she knows all about ‘pining Juggie and his love for his virginal roomie’ – he had told her as much when they were drinking.)

 

Betty chooses to ignore what Cheryl said (even though it’s partially true). Instead, to save face, she says flatly, “You didn’t answer my question.”

 

“True enough, Betty, but are you _sure_ you even want to hear what I have to say? It might change your opinion of your genteel bestie.”

 

“I’m sure, Cheryl. Out with it.” But she really isn’t; she just wants to know whatever Cheryl has to say – consequences (or startling revelations about Jughead) _be damned._

 

Cheryl grins slyly (as though she’s about to reveal something enigmatic and juicy) as she says, “Jughead _likes_ rough sex and _I swear_ , that boy must have read the Kama Sutra because he likes to change up positions halfway through doing the deed. I mean, seriously, that boy is like fucking napalm.” Cheryl says with a raucous giggle, “He also likes getting head _a lot_ , so _you know_ , you _might_ want to mix things up with him, otherwise, he might grow bored of you and get his kicks elsewhere, and –” she says rather pointedly, “No offense, Betty, but you seem like a vanilla kind of girl. Anyways, Cheryl says, her voice sounding a bit shrill, I should go. Oh, say hi to Juggie for me, will you? _Toodles_.”

 

 _Oh my._ So Jug – well, now she knows what he was vaguely referencing on the couch that one day; she thinks of last night, the way he flipped her over and how he _had_ – she feels her face flush suddenly at the thought. But she doesn’t even know how to respond in this moment. (You don’t _really_ want to ‘follow-up’ on this, do you Betty?)

 

As Cheryl disappears from the bathroom, Betty clenches her fists against the marble sink and takes a hard look at herself in the mirror. Was she, Betty Cooper, _not sexy_? This isn’t about Jughead (or any feelings for him she’s trying so strongly to repress right now). Instead, Betty wonders if she is in fact ‘a vanilla kind of girl.’ _Am I bad at sex_ , she thinks, as she stares at the mirror. Betty never felt very sexy in High School and went on few (if any) dates for that matter. That was part of the (embarrassing) reason that she managed to stay a virgin for such an inordinate amount of time. And it didn’t help that she had hardly any dates in undergrad – and the last one, _well_ – she just tries not to think about Archie, finding that its far easier to fantasize about her best friend (and his dick) instead.

 

Betty sighs. Then, she reaches into her purse and grabs a tube of pale pink lipstick. She applies a light coat against her peach lips, which unfortunately does little to dispel her own insecurities as she purses her lips into a gentle ‘o’ shape. _How does one look sexy?_ She places the small silver tube on the countertop and runs a hand through her hair, ‘Am I not sexy,’ she wonders, ‘Is _that_ the real reason Archie and I had terrible sex?’ Betty feels limp and dejected. She thinks about how to act sexy, to be sexy, looking around the restroom to make sure it’s just her. After confirming its empty, she looks up at herself again. She runs a hand sensuously down the skin of her neck experimentally, winding her other hand around the back of her head. She wonders if this _looks sexy_. _Maybe_ , but there’s only one way to find out –

 

And then, an idea.

 

She wants to prove to herself that she _is_ sexy – _wild, even_ , and she knows just the way to do that. Betty looks up at herself in the mirror, smirks at her own unholy idea and proceeds to dip her hands beneath her barely their dress, inching her fingers up against the waist band of her cotton thong. She pulls the fabric down her legs and shimmies out of it quickly before anyone comes into the restroom and sees. Then, she shoves her underwear into her purse quickly and decides that she needs to find Jughead.

 

 _It’s for an experiment_ , she tells herself. She just needs Jughead as a test subject. _He’ll indulge her_ , surely.

 

 

 

 

 

Jughead smiles when he sees her reemerge from the hallway. “There you are, Betts. Since I’ve been relegated as the DD for the night, I took the liberty of getting you a refill,” He motions at her wine glass on the table.

 

“Thank you, but the drink can wait. I _need_ to talk to you.”

 

“Is everything okay?” _Oh god_ , he thinks suddenly, please don’t let this be the inevitable ‘what are we talk.’ Not here.

 

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just need to talk to you _in private_.” She says hurriedly, grabbing his hands as he gets up from the table.

 

“Where do you want to go?” He says quietly, rubbing his thumbs across the top of her hands.

 

“Follow me.”

 

 _What is this really about,_ he wonders. Her parents, perhaps? (Alice Cooper _was_ highly overbearing during this time of year, sure – but when was she not?). And parental issues, while a semi-frequent occurrence for Betty, don’t _seem_ to fit the bill somehow; she hasn’t mentioned anything about them as of late. Normally, she lets him know _exactly_ how she feels about _them_ (her mother, mostly) in the form of an expletive or two, followed by a bleary eyed, ‘my mother is driving me up the wall, Jug,’ (which means a night of cuddling for him as he comforts her, so no complaints there).

 

 _No_ , he decides, he knows her well enough to know that whatever _this_ is, it isn’t about her parents.

 

Betty walks with an expedient determination as she leads Jughead away from the party. Jughead is still thinking (and feeling confused) as he follows Betty down a winding hallway. Once they pass a flight of stairs, she turns around to look at him and bites her lower lip. Jughead shoots her a puzzled look as she turns around again and walks ahead of him, leading them out of the building and in the direction of on-campus library. They pass the exterior of the building, which is illuminated by two well-lit lamps. Jughead follows close behind her, watching her abject determination to take them wherever is it their going as she leads him to the side door of library. The main entrance is usually closed at this time of night, which he knows for a fact (he’s worked there for far too long now, he thinks). He watches as Betty pulls her keys from her clutch; after a singular minute of fumbling with the key and the rusty _will you ever open_ lock, _they’re in_.

 

“Betty,” Jughead spins her around once they’re inside the hallway that leads to the staircase, “What are we doing here?” He places his hands against her arms and rubs them up and down, “Do you want to talk in my office?”

 

But Betty shakes her head. “Not here,” she says, picking up the pace as her heels glide down the expanse of the hallway with Jughead in tow.

 

“ _Betty_.” He’s repeats in earnest, but alas, he is helpless to protest as she pulls him onwards with an inordinate amount of determination, the likes of which he’s never seen.

 

But Betty gives nothing by way of explanation. Instead, she says simply, “ _Third Floor_.”

 

Jughead pauses momentarily, half wondering why she’s taking him _there_ of all places.

 

The third floor of the on-campus library was (in Jughead’s humble opinion) the most underutilized wing of the library. A third of it acted solely as a storage space because it still had remnants from the libraries pre-renovation days – old bookshelves, large oak desks, antiquated maps, and _books_ – thousands upon thousands of antique books that required special permission from the reference librarian to even check them out. Most students didn’t bother; they simply photocopied what they needed and re-shelved the books themselves.

 

Once they make it to the third floor, Betty looks around curiously (she needs to ensure that their completely alone _for this_ , or they could get into serious trouble). But the most basic of observations tell her they are. Most of the lights are off, save for the dim hallway lamps (that look like refurbished bulbs from the fifties) and the few lights at the beginning of each row of bookshelves. They’ll essentially be cloaked in darkness – _perfect._ Betty grabs Jughead’s hand and purposefully tugs him along the entire non-fiction section of the library until their nearly at the far end of it. But before he can get a word in edgewise, Betty pulls him into an alcove, shoves him firmly against the wall and covers his lips with hers.

 

“Betty,” Jughead says huskily, as her lips make their way down his neck, “Care to tell me what we’re doing here?” He watches as she loosens the tie around his collar with an intense determination (the likes of which he’s never seen from her before – and _fuck me_ , he thinks, wondering how he’s going to make it home without touching her now).

 

After kisses down his neck, she pauses, looks him firmly in the eyes and whispers something completely unexpected, “Am I _bad_ at sex, Jug?”

 

“What?” He pulls his lips away from hers and takes a good look at her. _Did he hear that right?_

“Am I bad _at sex_?” She repeats flatly.

 

“Betty,” Jughead says, the confusion evident in his voice as his hands rub her shoulders, “What on earth are you talking about?” He asks, his brows now visibly furrowed.

 

But Betty doesn’t respond. Instead, she smooths her hands down her dress and stares at the ground in a listless manner.

 

She looks disheartened about _something_ , but he has no idea what, so he pulls her chin up to his and says gently, “What’s this _really_ about, Betts?”

 

“ _Cheryl_ ,” Betty whispers in admission, toying with her hands absentmindedly. Had it been anyone else, she may have ignored them, but Cheryl, however, was _quite pretty_ , the fact of which was not lost on her. And there was that other nagging feeling she tried to ignore (Cheryl _had_ hooked-up up with Jughead and was better at sex than her, _probably_ ).

 

“Cheryl, wait – _oh god_.” He feels his jaw tighten, “Did she say something to you?”

 

Betty nods, but doesn’t look him in the eye.

 

“ _Betty_ ,” Jughead pulls her face back to his, “What did she say to you?”

 

“She said that you two hooked up and while that’s none of my business, she _is_ really pretty and _I don’t know_ , I guess I just got worried that’s guys don’t find me sexy or something. It’s stupid, _I know_. I mean, I know you’re my best friend and all, but--”

 

He doesn’t let her finish. Instead, Jughead flips her around so that they’ve effectively switched positions – and now, she’s the one with her back to the wall as he begins kissing her whilst running his hands down the length of her dress, taking grave care to skim the front gently to avoid damaging the delicate fabric. He tears his lips from hers if only for a moment and whispers against the shell of her ear, “Just so you know, you’re _not_ bad at sex, Betts. Not by a long shot.”

 

“I’m not--?”

 

Jughead looks down at her, grins, and shakes his head earnestly.

 

“But Jug--”

 

“Shhh.” Is all he says in response, pressing his index finger to her lips. He pushes her towards the back corner, where there’s a single desk, hoisting her up. Betty sucks in her breath as he pushes against her; his lips are back on hers in a split second. She responds by wrapping her legs around him as they kiss and kiss and kiss. In between their lips touching, he runs his hands down the length of her dress when Betty grabs one hand suddenly and pulls it underneath the bottom of her dress and _dear god_ , he realizes all at once as his fingers brush directly against her wetness, she _isn’t_ wearing any underwear.

 

“Betts,” He says above her, “You’re _not_ wearing--”

 

“Do you want to,” Is all she says as she begins fumbling with the zipper on his pants.

 

“Betty.” He whispers, as if to say _we should really stop_ , and _they should_ (they are, for all intents and purposes in a _very_ public place, which may be empty _for now_ ) but—

 

But he can’t stop the inevitable because nearly two seconds later she pulls his dick out and begins rubbing it against her entrance just beneath her _barely there_ dress. _Do you want me_ , her lips are saying without her even speaking, I _know_ you do. _Come on, Jug – fuck me._ He looks down at her and wonders how someone who looks so seemingly innocent is now _anything but_. And less than a minute later, he’s inside of her. He pushes upwards slowly and soon, a feeble cry slips from her mouth as he begins to thrust into her, picking up the pace as he feels her legs tighten around his waist.

 

“Can you – _harder_ ,” She chokes out broken words, not bothering the stifle the feeble cries of pleasure resounding from her throat – and _god_ , he thinks, had he known that she brought him up here for _this_ – _damn_ – but he doesn’t think, instead, he concentrates on getting her there first, fucking her harder and faster as he kisses her, pressing his lips to hers as her eyes shut and she buries her face in his neck; she’s bunching at his shirt now –‘yes, fuck yes,’ she cries softly as she’s very nearly there to which he responds with, ‘god, your sexy’ as he thrusts into her harder and faster than before. And soon –

 

“ _Jug – I – I’m_ …” She’s about to come, but can’t quite get the words out as she feels his thrusts deepen.

 

“ _God_ – _touch yourself, baby_ ,” He groans. _She does_ , managing a few light circles against her clit with one hand, _and then –_

 

She cries feebly as he comes inside her, grabbing onto the desk for more leverage as she revels in the feeling his dick gives her, rocking back and forth against him as he feels her long legs tighten around his waist.

 

After another minute, it’s over.

 

He kisses her softly as she steadies herself against the desk, still panting from the euphoria that ran through her body mere seconds before. When her heavy breathing dissipates a beat later, he runs his hand down her cheek and says softly, ‘We should go, Betts. Before someone sees.”

 

She nods in agreement because _he’s right_ , someone _could see_ and she doesn’t want to have to explain _this_ – sex in the back of the school’s library, in the _for reference only_ section to her boss. She makes a joke to herself as she straightens the internal slip of her dress and stands upright –' _for reference_ , the sex was great’ – she thinks amusedly as she pulls the shiny exterior of the dress over the slip. Then, she grabs for her purse and pulls out the cotton thong she had done away with earlier; she slips it back on after zipping up her purse and leaning against the side of the wooden desk. Jughead, in turn, fixes his suit hurriedly as he buttons and zips his pants back up. But before they head back to the party, he presses two quick kisses against her lips and nips at her lower one, pulling his lips away slowly from hers as he cradles her face.

 

“Do you know how unbelievable sexy I think you are,” he says softly against her lips, “God, Betts, all I want to do is take you home, but we can’t go home just yet.”

 

“Why?” She wonders what could possibly be standing in the way of them doing _that_ again.

 

“ _Because_ ,” He says gently, cradling her waist, “I owe you _a dance_.”

 

 _Oh._ Betty smiles.

 

 

 

 

 

Once they’ve rejoined the party, Betty begins walking in the direction of the tables, but Jughead intercepts her; he grabs her by the arm and turns her around.

 

“Bett _y_. _C’mere_.”

 

“What?”

 

“Dance with me.” He rubs her cheek with his thumb and grabs her other hand, holding it firmly in his.

 

“And here I thought Jughead Jones _didn’t dance_.” She says looking down at her hand, which was still firmly held in his.

 

“ _I don’t_ ,” he says, grinning and skimming her jawline with his fingers, “Now come on.”

 

As they make their way to the center of the room, Jughead places one hand on her hip and places her other hand in his. Soon, a melodic rendition of _Deck the Halls_ begins to play as he and Betty began to move slowly, dancing at the same leisurely pace of the couples around them.

 

“Jughead Jones,” Betty says in astonishment, “You’ve gotten better at this. It seems your dancing has greatly improved since the last time we did this – what, six years ago?”

 

“Are you thinking of the winter formal? Because you really should let that go, Betts. I was a lot more nervous about dancing then than I am now.”

 

“We shall see,” Is all she says as they continue dancing.

 

And as they glide softly across the floor, Jughead looks down at Betty, holding her close as he _remembers when_.

…

Jughead stands nervously at the punch bowl while he waits for Betty, watching her from afar. She’s having a lighthearted conversation with some of her friends; they’re smiling at her, saying ‘love your dress’ to which she responds with a coy, ‘aw, thanks.’ _Hurry back_ , he wants to say, but doesn’t. He sighs. As his eyes wander around the gymnasium, he adjusts his beanie nervously, thinking about how best to proceed with the initial plan for the evening: _kissing Betty_.

 

He knows he told her that he _wouldn’t_ be dancing, but he can’t help but think that perhaps she’d want to anyways. This _is_ a High School dance after all, the fact of which isn’t lost on him as he watches his peers congregate in the center of the room as the music revs up again. Some are trying to dance and others – well _, they seem_ like their counting down the minutes until the after parties start because some of them are already visibly intoxicated.

 

 _Real classy_ , he thinks as he watches a guy grind up against his blonde date, who’s wearing a painfully low-cut crepe-de-chine gown. He rolls his eyes and leans back against the table. This is going to be a long-ass night, he thinks. But it’s worth it because he’s _here_ and he came _with her_.

 

Betty makes her way through the crowd and finds a sulking Jughead Jones with his back propped up against the table.

 

“People watching again, Jug?” She’s sympathetic because she knows that a high school dance isn’t exactly his scene, but nevertheless, he had chosen to indulge her of his own accord and take her as _just friends_ to the thing she want to go to more than anything at the start of the new year.

 

He smiles and looks down at her, touching the table nervously because she looks _that pretty_ , “What can I say, I’m a bit of a wallflower, I guess. High School dances aren’t really--”

 

“ _Your thing_.” She says, “Yeah, _I know_.” Betty grins and rolls her eyes. Then, she just stands there. She begins fidgeting with her thumbs as if she’s waiting for something to happen.

 

 _Dude, now would be the opportune time to make your move_ he says to himself internally. So he _doesn’t think_ and instead, _just does_. Jughead clears his throat as the words, ‘do you want to dance, Betts,’ tumble out of his mouth.

 

“Okay,” She says, smiling brightly at him in the same manner she did when he first saw he walk down the stairs.

 

Jughead takes her hand in his and pulls her onto the dance floor. He hesitates for a second, but when she looks up at him, he swears he can almost hear her say, ‘go ahead,’ and so, _he does_. He wraps his hands around her waist and allows his fingers to settle against the curve of her hipbone. She’s clearly okay with this _because_ , within seconds, he feels her hands lock at the back of his head.

 

“Are you having fun?” It comes out sounding far more nervous than he wanted it to.

 

Betty just nods. She looks up at him; it’s (almost) as if she’s willing him to come a little closer and _he does_. His head dips down a little lower as his right hand let’s go of her waist and comes up to cup her face. She is so beautiful (and he _hates_ himself for being in love with her, his best friend), but he can’t _unsee_ how pretty she looks tonight. He just _can’t_. But as she leans in closer, he can see the singular beauty mark on her face now; she is _so_ close in this moment, so unbelievable close. _Almost_ close enough to –

 

He _should_ have kissed her then and there – _but alas_ – his nerves had gotten the better of him that night. And so, because he didn’t have the courage to go that far, he settled for holding her close as they slow danced to the final song, _Just A Kiss_.

 

 _Ironic_ , Jughead thought as Betty’s head laid against his chest and he felt her sigh wistfully; his arm and hand are cradling her head while the other arm is wrapped tightly around her waist. But if it’s _just a kiss_ , then why was it so damn hard for him to _just kiss her_ already?

…

But now –

 

Betty’s hands find their way into his scalp and he holds her waist close. As they dance, Jughead mouths, ‘are you having fun’ to which Betty responds with a giggle and a light nod of the head as she continues dancing.

 

But they aren’t eighteen anymore _and god_ , he wants her for his own now (he wants to take her home and make love to her all over again and _he will_ – later). So, he doesn’t hesitate this time; he cups her face and leans down to kiss her, pulling her waist firmly against his. When Betty finally breaks the kiss, Jughead’s fingers trace the length of her jawline as he whispers against her ear, ‘let’s get out of here.’

 

Betty nods as she runs her fingers through his hair.

 

Meanwhile, a dejected (and _very_ agitated) Cheryl Blossom watches the entire _so not_ platonic exchange from across the room. She rolls her eyes, thinks to herself, ‘friends, _my ass_ ,’ and proceeds to step out into the courtyard where she grabs as flute of chardonnay from a server’s metal tray. She smiles and says in a _less-than-sincere_ tone, ‘thanks,’ to the server. But she frowns in an instant when the same server turns his back on her to greet another patron.

 

 

 

 

 

Later that night.

 

Once Betty and Jughead are home, they undress one another and slip into the shower together. For just a moment, as the hot water drenches them from head to toe, Jughead feels as though time has indeed stood still as he holds her close and presses his lips to hers. It’s easy for them to be like this, he thinks, caressing one another’s skin without a thought as the warm water drips downwards and pools beneath their feet. Many minutes pass – too many for the shower to feel soothing at this point – but both remain unperturbed; instead, they ignore time entirely, treating it as a mere afterthought, a limitation which only mortals must bear as they explore each other indefinitely, each eternally lost in the other’s lips and skin. And once the shower is over and the water has all but disappeared beneath the drain, he wraps her in a plush cotton towel and cradles her against him as snow falls languidly against the frosted windowsill outside.

 

To be continued.

…

 

 

_**Happy Holidays. I hope this update was worth the wait. If you enjoyed this, drop me a comment below. Many thanks!** _

_**-Starry** _

 


	7. those three words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was inevitable, really. They couldn't go on like this indefinitely. 
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> Or, someone confesses.

_I don't quite know_

_How to say_

_How I feel_

 

_Those three words_

_Are said too much_

_They're not enough_

 

**-Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol**

**__**

 

Six years ago.

 

Betty’s parents are still out of town, which means that she and Jughead can share her bed for a little while longer. So, they seize the opportunity once more, with each of them ensconced comfortably beneath her bedspread, separated only by the sheets and their own self-imposed limitations on touching one another. Betty is perfectly content to sleep next to and cuddle with her best friend until sunrise. But Jughead Jones appears to be having a harder time with their quiet intimacy than she does.

 

At present, he’s in Betty’s bed finding himself inexplicably drawn to her soft, milky-white skin. Her back is turned to him and her head is pressed against her pillow. He’s facing her back now, looking at the skin that’s not concealed by her pajamas _and god_ , he wants to touch her _so badly_. And before he even knows what he’s doing, his fingers (which _clearly_ have a mind of their own) are dancing at the edge of the straps of her silk pajama top; he traces down each strap – hesitating at first – _but then_ , when she doesn’t move or berate him, he pushes his fingers beneath the strap and moves them up and down carefully against her bare skin. He’s shaking now, worrying needlessly that she’ll be upset, but he doesn’t stop touching her. He knows Betty can feel his fingers moving against her skin, but instead of reprimanding him for caressing her skin (regardless of how innocent said touching _is_ ), she responds in a way he doesn’t expect. Instead, she speaks into the darkness and asks him a simple question.

 

“Jug?”

 

“Yeah, Betts?” He says hoarsely, clearing his throat as he waits for what she’s about to say next. The atmosphere of her bedroom, though silent, is fraught with his own eager anticipation. (But what he _really_ wants is for her to give him permission to _do more_ ).

 

“C-can you rub _my back_?” Betty waits for him to answer, wondering if it’s too soon to ask _that_ , but _probably not_ , she figures, after all, he _did_ just touch her bare skin (which was, she decided, a rather daring thing to do, even for him). But she knew he didn’t mean it to be inappropriate in the slightest, for she could feel his hands trembling against the smooth planes of her skin as he ran his fingers across it. The touching felt _almost_ reverential. She liked that about him; he was respectful with her, but never once pushed her boundaries.

 

“Yeah,” he says huskily, his voice feels like it’s about to crack at any given moment. “T-tell me what you like, okay?”

 

“Okay,” she whispers. She’s nervous too.

 

He starts with one hand against the top portion of her back, swirling his fingers lightly against her skin. She seems to like it, he thinks, because the firmer he is, the more she seems to really let go, yielding to each subsequent touch with a contented sigh. He can hear her breathing steadily against the fabric beneath her and with one gentle caress of his fingers, she goes limp next to him, sinking further and further into the pillow. He moves his hand a little lower down her back, edging his fingers against the silk when he hears Betty make the sexiest sigh he thinks he’s ever heard _and dear god_. He pauses for a second to stop himself from wishing he was the one making her sigh _like that_. No, Jughead, _don’t even_. He sighs and is about to rub her back again when she says –

 

“Juggie,” she says in a hushed whisper, “C-can you _snuggle me_?”

 

 _Yes._ It’s an invitation for more and he’s never been so happy to oblige.

 

“Yeah, okay,” he says, veering a little close to her back _ever so slightly_. He reaches his arms around her as his chest presses firmly against her back. Then, he expels a deep breath and settles there comfortably like the two of them fit together _like so_. He sighs in relief as he feels her back push against his own when suddenly, without warning, _it hits him_ ; the feeling is one of inscrutable and enigmatic warmth and though the moment is fleeting at best, it’s _almost_ familial. He closes his eyes and wills it to last forever. But to avoid any hint of impropriety, he muffles the cry of relief threatening to erupt from his throat suddenly as she sighs against his chest. She feels both lithe and graspable beneath him as he wraps his arms around her waist and spoons her, his head settling just above hers.

 

Betty sighs contentedly and (sort of) touches her hand to his arms and shuts her eyes. A minute later she laces her fingers in his and proceeds to fall fast asleep.

 

But he is awake long after she’s asleep, listening to the steady sound of her breathing and her heart beating soundly against his chest. He swears he can feel each time her heart valves pump blood in and out of her vessels _and god,_ he laments in silence _,_ being a teenaged-male _is too damn hard_ ; it’s taking all his willpower not to turn her over and kiss her senseless. He tries _not_ to imagine _touching her_ – peeling down the straps of her night shirt and kissing her bare shoulder as he runs his hand down her arms and the length of her back. And soon, his imagination runs away with him (that and her close proximity to him isn’t helping here) and his lips, as if on autopilot move downwards and stops at the edge of her skin next to her shoulder.

 

 _Should I do this_ , he thinks? She _is_ asleep (and from the looks of things, far-gone in the land of Nod by now – so there’s no chance of her waking up). But he just wants to see if her skin is as soft as it feels against his lips and so, he does exactly that. Jughead leans down and presses the most chaste kiss against the skin between her neck and shoulder that he can muster, only allowing his lips to linger there long enough for him _to feel_ , but not encroach on her space or autonomy in any way – _and dear god_ , he feels it and it is as soft as he’d ever imagined against his lips.

 

He pulls away from her suddenly and resumes his previous position, spooning her and holding her close, his heart beating furiously beneath his chest.

 

But what Jughead didn’t know was that Betty was awake, albeit briefly, the entire time – just long enough to feel his lips ghost her shoulder. Betty felt a rush of butterflies hit her lower abdomen all at once as his lips touched her skin, but she never once let on to him that _she knew._

 

Instead, she just smiled in the darkness of her bedroom and closed her eyes.

 ...

Present Day.

 

“ _Betty_ ,” He coos, rubbing her bare back with his slightly calloused fingers, “I’ve got to go to work in a bit. Do you want me to make breakfast?”

 

Betty makes a low ‘hmm,’ sound, humming against her pillow, but doesn’t move.

 

“Betts,” Jughead says once more, deferring to her nickname as he presses kisses against her neck and back and his hand covers her hipbone, “Wake up, baby.”

 

But Betty shakes her head. Sleeping in (which, as a grad student, happens far too infrequently for her liking), is one of the few things she relishes on her days off. Today she has an early afternoon lecture to attend, but otherwise has the day to herself.

 

“So that’s a _no_ , then?”

 

Betty’s eyes are still closed as she smiles and nods.

 

“Alright,” Jughead says as he traces light circles against her back, “Let me see if I’ve deduced this correctly. You want _me_ to make _us_ breakfast but you don’t want to get up under any circumstance – _and please_ , don’t strain yourself in answering me while you sleep on _my_ pillow – did I get that right, hmm?”

 

 _Just what I wanted to hear._ Betty nods in satisfaction against her pillow. Her lashes appear fuller as the smiles spreads across her cheeks. She tucks both of her hands beneath the pillow and pulls her knees in as the blanket falls further down her body.

 

Jughead grins and pushes his body into an upright position. _We shouldn’t have stayed up so late_ , he thinks with a self-satisfied grin. He yawns as his feet touch the cold floor and runs his hands through the front of his messy hair, which falls beneath his eyes in waves as he stretches. Suddenly, he hears a light crying sound – a deep guttural whimper, which is far too animalist to be from a cooing child. _Okay, why am I thinking about children?_ Jughead yawns and looks around the room. Upon further inspection, he sees Oliver at the foot of the bed looking as sad as ever as he cries in hopes of someone hearing (or at the very least, acknowledging his presence).

 

Well, he thinks amusedly, Oliver could be considered a baby of sorts – _right?_

 

“Olie,” Jughead says as the puppy, who’s ears have perked up now that he’s being acknowledged, “What is it boy? Did we keep you up late?”

 

Jughead swears in this moment that Oliver can understand him and his joke about their loud lovemaking the night before (and it was _loud_ , he had made sure of it; she came undone twice – once from his fingers and the second time _beneath him_ ) because Oliver begins crying all over again as if whatever Jughead has just said was highly incendiary – but of course _it’s not_ , he’s just _a dog_ , but nevertheless, Jughead grabs his tiny body and places him against one knee as if he’s a crying child that needs to be comforted as he runs his hands down his fur to soothe him, “It’s okay, boy.” Oliver whimpers once more and jumps out from his lap and zooms down the length of the bed, padding the mattress with his soft paws as he jumps excitedly near Betty’s blonde hair.

 

_Ruff! Ruff!_

 

When Betty doesn’t respond, Jughead gets up and stretches his arms. He looks down at Oliver and grabs him in one swoop, making the puppy air bound for a moment as he cradles him carefully in his hands. He walks him around the length of the bed and plants him in front of Betty’s bare body. Apparently, though, she was the one Oliver wanted all along because as soon as he’s next to her, his front paws leap excitedly and push against her arms. Betty smiles (clearly acknowledging she’s been awake the entire time) and lets one – and _only_ one – hand out from beneath the confines of her pillow and scoops him into her. Oliver’s body goes lithe in compliance and lies flat against the bed. He drops his head contentedly and proceeds to, Jughead assumes, doze off with her as he shuts his eyes.

 

“Well,” Jughead mutters to Oliver, “I see now who your favorite parent is. Don’t expect any subsequent treats from me, pal.” And right as he says that, Oliver opens his eyes, almost as if to say – he swears it – _and?_

Jughead leans down to kiss Betty’s cheek as he whispers against the shell of her ear, “Be back in a bit, okay?”

 

Betty smiles at the kiss and his words, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she shifts and pulls Oliver against the blanket around her chest.

 

 

 

 

 

Jughead is heating pancake batter on the stove, flipping the pan a bit precariously as he attempts to brown the edges just so before turning each pancake over when suddenly, he hears (to his utter horror) the sound of the lock in the front door turning followed by the subsequent sound of a female’s overly chipper voice. _Fuck me_ , he thinks, as he hears Veronica yell across the hall in the direction of Betty’s bedroom, for is far too early in the am for a confrontation with _her_.  

 

“Betty! I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in – where are you, anyways? You better not still be _in bed_. We had plans today, remember?” She turns her elbow upwards, allowing her leather purse to slide down to her elbow. She’s thinking about what her next course of action should be. _Easy_ , she decides, pursing her lips together. She’ll simply find Betty and wake her up herself.

 

Veronica walks three paces and freezes when she sees a _very_ underdressed Jughead standing upright against the stove as the smoke from the pan fizzles and erupts at the touch of his spatula pressed against the top of the pancake.

 

“Jug-head,” Veronica says, drawing his name out as she looks him up and down and _oh._ Okay. So _this_ is why girls – _not her_ – but girls around campus were so into him (it’s the light abs beneath the brooding exterior and the hair, probably – she’d heard stories), “Where’s Betty?” she asks (although she already knows), “She and I _had_ plans today,” she says, enunciating the past tense of the verb (for she already knows said plans are _no more_ ), “She told me that the key was under the mat and that I could let myself in.”

 

“She’s uh, indisposed at the moment, Veronica. Can you wait on the couch, or…” he says sounding almost embarrassed like he’s sort of been caught doing something (and _he has_ ), “Could you come back in a little while, I’ll tell her you were here.”

 

“No need, I can tell her myself,” she says, all too aware now of where Betty is and subsequently what she and Jughead were likely doing (probably before she even got here, too) from the looks of his rather obvious sex hair. And with that, she turns on one heel and makes her way to the door, which is slightly ajar, to Jugheads room – not Betty’s – because _she knows_ she can get him to fess up this way, to let his guard down and _he does_ , like clockwork, almost predictably so; he comes running as soon as she presses her manicured nail against the wooden door to open it. It moves less than an inch under the soft pressure of her finger, just enough to get a flash of her friends bare back asleep comfortably against their _very_ wrinkled bed sheets.

 

“Wait,” he says simply, placing one hand in front of the door protectively (but who was he really trying to protect at this point – himself or her, or both of them), “Betty’s asleep.” He says, closing the door promptly so no further revelations can be made by her for the morning. And that’s when he realizes that he’s now standing in front of Veronica in his boxers – _just boxers_ , as she gives him that _what the fuck is going on here_ look – as if that’s really even necessary though because she _knows_ now; if she didn’t know before she surely does now. So, he looks at her and braces for impact (or a verbal altercation, or whatever it is female friends say to the guys their friends are subsequently hooking-up with) and waits.

 

“Do you want to put some pants on first,” Veronica says, trying her darndest to not to look downwards.

 

 _Oh my god_ , he realizes suddenly, he’s got morning wood and now he knows why she’s staring at him _like that_. _And this is my nightmare_ , Jughead thinks as he whispers to her, “Give me a second, okay?”

 

Veronica rolls her eyes and smirks as she heads back into the living room. She’s waiting. And afterwards – when he’s decent – she’s getting to the bottom of this.

Jughead returns another minute later, shutting his bedroom door behind him silently. He sighs and heads towards the kitchen for the inevitable confrontation that’s about to take place. He goes over to the stove first, turns it off and places the pan on the back burner to prevent it from burning the pancakes. Then, he turns around and leans limply against the counter. He clutches each side of the counter with his hands and looks up at Veronica.

 

“So,” Veronica says as if he she has all the time in the world, “Betty _told me_ , Jughead, _all of it_. Fixing her first time? Really? I’d normally call that a line that a guy would use to get a girl in the sack, but _with you_ – _no_ – you’re far too saccharine for such a thing.”

 

“ _Veronica_.” The situation is now worse than he’d ever imagined.

 

“No,” she says as she simultaneously gets up from the kitchen table, drumming her manicured nails against the wood pointedly, “I think there’s more going on here. In fact, _Romeo_ ,” she says intentionally, “I’d surmise to say that there’s _a lot more_ going on here than a mere hook-up between the two of you, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

“Do you want me to respond or--” He says tersely, folding his arms and standing up straight.

 

“The question was rhetorical, _Jughead_.”

 

“I know, listen--” he starts to say, as if an explanation is somehow going to placate her at this point.

 

But Veronica cuts him off in an instant, waving her fingers in a tight circle and pinching them together so he knows to hush. Instead, she has a question of her own for him, a question which she’s been dying – nay, _dying!_ – to ask him for ages now, “Does Betty know you’re in love with her?”

 

Dude, you are _so fucked_. He swallows hard, his Adams apple dipping a little past his throat as he looks up at her. “I mean—” He attempts to explain himself again, but can’t quite find the words.

 

“ _Jughead_ ,” Veronica says in earnest, one hand on her hip as she continues, “Why don’t you just tell Betty how you feel about her?”

 

“I can’t do that,” he says suddenly, “I can’t risk it right now, it’s too soon.”

 

“Look Jughead, not to be crass but you kind of ruined the whole _were just friend’s thing_ when you stuck your dick in her, so--”

 

“Look, I’ll tell her okay. Just not now. Let me tell her on my own time, _please_.”

 

“Suit yourself” Veronica says in concession, “But Jug,” her voice softens a bit as she says, “You really should _tell her_. And I think your worrying needlessly here, I’m sure Betty will be elated.”

 

“Why?” his voice perks up in an instant, “Did she say something to you – about me, I mean, _about us_?”

 

“I’m not telling you what my girl said, Jug,” Veronica says as she runs her fingers against the kitchen counter as she adds, “Look, you two really need to start communicating about what’s going on between you both. Isn’t that obvious by now?”

 

“Isn’t _what_ obvious?”

 

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Jughead. _Come on_. I’m talking about the fact that Betty was sleeping in your bed long before you started sleeping together and don’t give me this pretend ‘we are just friends’ bullshit. You’ve been in love with her since forever, and I’m honestly surprised she never saw it.”

 

Jughead runs one hand through his hair, pulls it out, gives it an ephemeral wave across the air and lets letting the hand drop to his side in defeat, “Look, Ron, what do you want me to say? Yes, okay, I _love_ Betty. I _always have_. I’ve been in love with her since guys first figure out what that even means in the sixth grade – _there_. Happy?”

 

“Ooooooo,” Veronica says, a high-pitched shriek tearing from her throat as she jumps up and down once, clasping her hands together excitedly, causing the silver bracelet on her wrist to slide down her arm, “I knew it! I knew it! Jughead Jones, go in there right now and tell your girl that you love her.”

 

“Not so fast, Ron, keep our voice down, _shit_. Look, I _will_ tell her, okay, just on my own terms. Let me decide the when and where, please.” He looks at her, eyes pleading for her to keep his secret.

 

“Oh, this is _so sweet_ and I’m just, guh. _I fucking knew it!_ ” Veronica jumps up and down, smiling and clasping her hands against her chest excitedly.

 

“Yeah, yeah.” he says with a coy grin. He still feels a bit shy when it comes to any outward displays of emotion, a trait he attributes to his less-than-ideal upbringing, but still, he can’t help but smile now that he’s told someone – even if it’s _just_ Veronica – how he feels about her.

 

“I wasn’t mad at you earlier, Jug, I’m sorry if that’s what you were thinking initially. It’s just, I was concerned about what’s been going on here.”

 

“You weren’t?” He says, brows furrowing slightly in disbelief.

 

“God no, I was just worried about you two and wanted to ensure that your treating my girl with the utmost care – you are, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes, of course.” he says dismissively. For her to suggest otherwise would be patently offensive at this point.

 

“Good,” Veronica beams. “Well, I should be going.”

 

“Wait,” he turns her around before she reaches the door, “Ron, did Betty say anything to you about her feelings about me? Are they mutual because _if not_ , let me be real with you here, I feel like _I’m fucked_.”

 

 “Oh no, so not going there, Jug.” Veronica shakes her head as his hand drops from her arm.

 

“Veronica,” he says pleadingly, needing some semblance of hope (at this point, anything will do), “ _Please_.”

 

“Fine,” she says, clutching onto counter for leverage as she leans closer to him, “In a word, no. She’s never said point blank, ‘Ron, I’m in love with Jughead, but—'”

 

 _Oh._ He looks down at the kitchen floor and proceeds to cross his arms.

 

“But that doesn’t mean _she isn’t_ , okay? You two just really need to sit down and have heart to heart.”

 

“I know,” Jughead sighs, “I’ve been putting this off for a very long time now.” _Now that’s the understatement of the century_ , he thinks to himself as he stares at the ground suddenly ruminating over all the possible ways things could go wrong for him.

 

“Hey,” Veronica reaches over and grabs his arm to reassure him, “It’s going to work out, Jug.”

 

“But do you know that for a fact, because from what you just said, everything, including Betty’s romantic feelings are up in the air.”

 

“Jug,” Veronica tilts her head at him, “You _are_ Betty’s best friend and while I can’t speak for her, I’m almost certain that the odds are in your favor here.”

 

“Do you mean that?” he asks quietly. He’s still feeling decidedly nervous about the whole thing. What if she says _no, I don’t love you, sorry_. Will everything between them be ruined?

 

“I do,” she urges gently.

 

Relieved somewhat by her friend’s reassurance, Jughead manages a half smile. “Thanks.”

 

He shows Veronica to the door and shuts it quietly so as not to disturb Betty. Then, he leans against the back of the door and shuts his eyes. He needs to think about this, how to tell her. _But when? Now?_ He goes back to the kitchen and heats up the pancakes against the stove for a few more minutes, taking great care to not burn what’s left of them. Once he’s done, he places two on a plate for Betty and leaves the rest to cool down on the stove. She’s still sleeping when he inches the door open with his elbow.

 

Betty is still fast asleep with Oliver curled snugly against her chest. Oliver sits up when he sees him come in, presumably because he smells food.

 

“Hey,” he says, softly at first, placing the pancakes on her nightstand, “Betts, wake up.” Oliver shakes himself awake and runs down the length of the bed in the interim, jumping in front of Jughead for attention.

 

_Ruff! Ruff!_

Betty shifts from her slumber as he sits down beside her. He runs his hands down her face and skin, still a little in disbelief that he got to make love to someone so beautiful last night. She purses her lips together and turns her head towards him, still clinging to the pillow.

 

“S-time is it,” she says as she looks up at him.

 

“Nearly nine, babe.” He’s still feeling her skin as he adds, “I made us breakfast. Do you want to join me in the kitchen or eat in here?”

 

‘Mmm,’ she hums, as if thinking aloud, ‘I don’t feel like moving, Jug.”

 

He leans down and grazes her lips with his, “Then don’t, baby.”

 

“Will you eat with me?”

 

“Yeah, okay, but first I need to tend to the little one. He’s been fussing all morning. Come on, Olie.” He scoops the puppy up and throws him over his shoulder, “Let me get _our baby_ something to eat first. Be back in a few.”

 

Betty sits up suddenly, rubbing what feels like invisible sand from her eyes. Now that she’s awake, she’s starving. She looks over at the pancakes and _god_ , he is just _so sweet_ , she thinks as she grabs the plate and places it in her lap. She looks down at the front of the pancake and realizes that he tried to be funny and draw some sort of design on its front – a heart, perhaps? She grins and savors the sweet buttermilk taste against the roof of her tongue.

 

 

 

 

 

Later that morning, after breakfast in bed with Betty, Jughead heads to campus for work. He grabs a coffee to-go, black, from the coffee shop and a bagel before heading in the direction of the library. Once he settles in, he chugs half the coffee and proceeds to try and stay awake for another hellish day. _God, help me_ , he prays wistfully, wishing this day was over already as he stares at the screen and his already fully inbox. An hour passes and he’s eyeballs deep in the midst of writing a report for the dean when he’s interrupted suddenly by the shadow of a woman appearing in the door frame of his office.

 

He looks up once, grimaces, and returns to writing.

 

“Well aren’t you going to say hello?”

 

“No,” he says, looking up from the computer screen, “And you can see yourself out right now, Cheryl. Betty told me you cornered her in the bathroom – _and god_ , Cheryl, what the hell did you say to her anyways?” Jughead sits back and looks at her with disdain.

 

“There’s no need for the attitude, Jughead. Sheesh. And if you must know, I did you a favor.”

 

Jughead clenches his fists against the desk and attempts to regain his composure. A favor, you say, and what favor would that be, Cheryl? Hmm, what did the lady of Shallot say to my best friend, do tell, or would you prefer to be called the whore of Baby--”

 

“Oh don’t be so fucking dramatic, Jughead. There’s no need to toss literary references at me, you know I’m just as well versed in them. I simply told her what you like _in bed_ , that’s all.”

 

“You what,” he says incredulously, “Is that why,” – _oh my god_ , he realizes, the library sex – “You had better tell me what else you said to her. At this point, he’s seething; that last semblance of control he had (if at all _) is slipping._

 

“Well,” Cheryl says, tracing her finger against the desk as she moves closer to him, “I _might_ have, _you know_ , given her some tips on how to make you happy.”

 

He gets up and runs over to shut the door of his office and turns in anger to look at her, “Cheryl, look, I don’t know what the issue is here, but god, you need to let it go – let _us_ go, _please_. Betty is in a fragile state right now and I need to keep her away from anything that’s going to flare up her anxiety – _and this_ ” – he points at her accusingly, “You meddling in our affairs is not fucking helping anyone here.”

 

“So, you _are_ seeing her, aren’t you?”

 

“That’s not your business, Cheryl.”

 

“Maybe not, but she told me you were _just friends_ in the bathroom, so--”

 

“She – _wait, what?_ She said that, after we had – well _fuck me_.” This is what he needed from Veronica this morning, some sort of assurance that Betty felt the same way, and now _this_ – Betty had said they were just friends. _Seriously?_  

 

“After you had what...”

 

“Never mind” he says, trying to conceal the deep disappointment in his voice, “Look Cheryl, I like you as a person, _but this_ – whatever vendetta you’ve got against me for hooking up with you – please, I’m begging you, let it end here now.”

 

“Oh, but it’s not that, Jug.”

 

“Then what? Tell me, whatever it is just tell me, please.”

 

“It’s about my ego, Jughead. I’m no slut, you know that. I told you that the night we hooked up. And I’m not one to be tossed aside so easily, I mean, look at me for fucks sake, I’m beautiful, yes. But I’m a lot cleverer than anyone here ever gives me credit for and _you know that_ , which is why we hit it off so well last semester. So tell me, Jughead, humor me, who is the one person that might be even better at writing than you are?”

 

“You,” he says honestly. Despite her façade – a vivacious, pretty ( _bitch?_ )– she was a brilliant writer and her diction was, in his opinion, unrivaled thus far by anyone in their University’s competitive writing program.

 

“And how do you think it makes me feel to see everyone giving you and our other semi-brilliant, but lesser classmates a plethora of accolades while I’m completely sidelined, hmmm? Tell me Jug-head, did it ever occur to you that this is about more than me being the scorned woman? Because that trope is so fucking overdone.”

 

“So you’re here for some _Dumas_ style revenge, is that it?”

 

“No,” she says, “I’m here to ask you, Jughead, why you don’t like me, because let’s be honest with ourselves for once, you and I _had_ a connection that night – and don’t you dare deny it – however small it may be, _we did_.”

 

“Cheryl,” he says pleadingly, “Look, I _do_ like you, okay? I do, but I’m in love with Betty. I always have been. We grew up together and she’s always been there for me. She’s always been the one person I could count on when I had no one and vice versa and that’s never going to change.”

 

“Fine,” she says coolly, “Be in love with your virginal little roomie, but let me pose a different question to you, Jughead – does Betty _love you?_ Does she feel the same, hmm? Because she literally told me that you and she were _just friends_.”

 

“She said _that_ ,” he implores, “Honestly?”

 

“Yes. I even asked her if there was something going on between the two of you and she said that you were just ‘childhood best friends who held hands in public,’ from familiarity, I guess? But _yeah_ , that’s what she said.”

 

“You swear?”

 

“I swear,” she says sarcastically, waving her manicured hands in the air.

 

Well, _fuck me_. Jughead sighs and crosses his arms as Cheryl moves closer to him. Then he says aloud, as if to quiet his own fears and the nerves in the pit of his stomach, “Look, I think your mistaken, sure, she _might_ have said that, but I swear to you, Cheryl, I swear she feels the same about me. I can _feel_ it.”

 

“Look Juggie, call me a bitch if you want, but I’m not lying, ask her yourself.”

 

“No, I can’t do that it’s just – _fuck_ , I think I might have ruined everything between us now and _god_ , this is exactly what I wanted to avoid, you know? That’s why I was seeing you and doing everything in my power to keep this from happening.” He closes his eyes and puts his hands over them in abject disbelief.

 

“Jug,” Cheryl rests a hand against his shoulder, “I know you said you don’t love me and that’s fine, but if you need me, need someone, _I’m here_.”

 

“Cheryl, I can’t,” he says, repeating himself for emphasis, “ _We can’t_.”

 

But her face is so close to his now, close like it was that night when he’d gone to her parent’s estate. He had gone out with her to forget Betty, to drown his sorrows in a sea of grain alcohol at a local joint in the village square. And after their night at the bar, they headed to her place.

…

“You live here,” he says incredulously looking down at the marble floors and glancing sideways at the Venetian style décor. If ever a place screamed _old money_ , he thought idly, this palatial manor was truly its epitome.  

 

“I do. This estate’s been in my family for a long time now. And what about you, Jughead? What’s your story?”

 

“I grew up in a trailer,” he says in admission. He’s no longer ashamed of said fact, but still, it doesn’t sound all that great when he’s traversing the halls of _to the manor born_.

 

“No matter,” she grabs his hand, “Come on, I want to show you something.”

 

Jughead’s cheeks and chest are burning as they head to the other wing of the house – and yes, the house was so large, so grandiose, that it had veritable wings – hallways in every direction, each accompanied by its own side wing. The house was immense and its guest for tonight – himself – was feeling decidedly unworthy as he traversed the halls of yesteryear.  

 

“Come on,” she says with a giggle, “Almost there.”

 

“Where are we going?” he asks playfully, grinning curiously from behind her.  

 

“The library.” She says, as if it’s the most normal thing in a world for one to have a library of their own.

 

“You have _a library_?” He asks with a snicker. _Rich people._

 

“Yes. Now come on Juggie, it’s harder to run in heels than you think it is.”

 

He followed Cheryl’s patent leather pumps down a large hallway lit with dimly colored metal lamps on either side of them

 

“Look at _that man_ ,” he says, pointing to a venetian-style painting, “He’s mean mugging us.”

 

Cheryl just laughs. And soon, they stop at two oak doors, which she pushes open easily, “Here we are.”

 

“This, w-where are we,” Jughead says, steadying his gait. He’s still slightly inebriated.

 

“Come on,” she says, grabbing his hand, "Were doing shots first."

 

They make their way over to a bar conveniently located at the side of the library, when Cheryl grabs a decorated glass flute, uncaps its bulbous crystal top, and pours two shots of caramel colored liquid into two pieces of finely carved crystal shot glasses.

 

“Bottoms up, Hemingway,” she says, handing him one whilst pressing the other to her lips.

 

“To writing,” he says in response, imbibing the liquid easily at the same time she does. She places the glass down against the marble bar and grins smugly.

 

“So what did you want to show me? That thing you were talking about at the bar, whatever it was, you said _I’d die over_.”

 

“Right this way,” she says, flashing a grin at him, “Come on,” she grabs his hand and pulls him up the stairs. They stop in front of a large bookshelf where she pulls a worn leather book from its shelf, “Here we are, she says, pushing the book in front of him.”

 

“What’s this?”

 

“Open it and find out.”

 

He does and _holy shit_. It’s a first edition signed copy of _A Farewell to Arms._

 

“Cheryl, this is incredible,” he says, looking at the sinuous strokes of black ink and marveling at Hemingway’s inked penmanship.

 

“I know,” she beams, “Now,” she says, “Where to next?”

 

“I’d love to see more of the library,” he says with a silent hiccup. His stomach feels warm and his cheeks are flushed. _That shot is definitely hitting me now_ , he mulls as his head spins, resigning himself to being drunk as shit.  

 

“I have a better idea,” she says with a wicked grin as she re-shelves the book.

…

They end up in front of her bedroom. She kisses him, but he turns his head away at first.

 

“Jug, Cheryl says, It’s fine, really. I know you like your roommate, but were just having a bit of fun here.”

 

“Fun,” Jughead repeats in earnest as her hands come around his neck.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” she whispers.

 

“Cheryl, are you sure?” His gaze goes to the neckline of her shirt as his hands cradle her waist cautiously.

 

She smiles and nods. And that was when Jughead decided, _fuck it_. He leans down, covers his lips with hers as her hands came around his waist. And soon, he’s pulling off his own shirt and pulling hers off as they stumble towards the direction of her mahogany bed.

…

And now—

 

He feels like he’s in the exact same situation all over again, only this time, when she tries to kiss him, he turns his head away to avoid her velvet lips entirely and pushes her politely, but firmly by the wayside. He just _can’t_. Even if Betty doesn’t like him, he’s resigned himself to his fate now, he’ll just remain single indefinitely if need be. But he can’t _not_ love her.

 

“I can’t, Cheryl. I just can’t. I _really_ need to talk to Betty. If she doesn’t love me, then so be it, but I need to tell her how I feel.”

 

Damn. And having played her last manipulative card, Cheryl finally folds, sighing in defeat as she looks up at him, “Suit yourself.”

 

He sighs as she collects her purse and watches her disappear down the hallway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s late in the afternoon when Betty decides she needs a quick pick me up after another less-than-engaging lecture on rhetorical analysis, so she heads to the on-campus coffee shop. She buys an iced coffee and finds a seat in the corner. But before she starts studying she takes a tablet of St. John’s Wart extract, which she read is “supposedly” a natural cure for anxiety and low-level depression (it was worth giving it a go, she figures). Nearly an hour later, Betty Cooper is still sitting in the on-campus coffee shop starring at her computer screen when her afternoon of studying is interrupted by Reggie Mantel, another grad student in her class.

 

“Betty – _there you are_. Just the person I wanted to see!”

 

“Hey Reggie, what’s up?” She says, her head bobbing up from the low screen.

 

“Listen, my date for tonight’s football game cancelled on me at the last minute. You wouldn’t want to go with me to the game, would you, as friends of course, but hey, I know it’s kind of last minute, so no pressure.”

 

But Betty will do anything to avoid work right before the Thanksgiving at this point, so instead of telling him what she _should_ tell him, which is, ‘sorry buddy, working on my thesis here,” instead she says with resolve, ‘yeah, absolutely.’

 

“Great. Do you want to just meet me by the parking lots this evening? We can take my car.”

 

“Absolutely. It’s a date – I mean, not that kind of date, _but yes_.”

 

“Awesome, see you later, Coop.” He flicks his palm in the air in a mock salute, hitting the brim of his baseball cap.

 

“Sounds good, bye Reggie.”

 

Betty grins excitedly and looks back at her computer screen. She’s just about to go over the last paragraph she typed when her phone buzzes against the counter.

 

**_Hey babe, can we talk tonight? I need to ask you something. :)_ **

****

**_Hey Jug,_** she types, adding by way of explanation, **_I may not be home until late tonight, can it wait until the am?_**

 

 ** _Oh, really_** he types worriedly from his desk, following that up with **_everything alright?_** He doesn’t want to sound desperate or tip her off, but he feels decidedly nervous now. He was hoping that everything – his feelings _and_ his confession of love for her – would be out in the open tonight.

 

**_Yes. I’m going to a football game with a classmate tonight. He has an extra ticket._ **

 

 _Oh,_ he thinks. Shit. He types quickly, **_Okay. Talk soon?_**

 

 ** _Definitely,_** she types in response. She grins and goes back to writing.

 

 _Fuck me_ , he thinks, tossing his phone to the side of his desk. How hard was it to tell someone that you love them?

 

Impossibly hard, he decides as he begrudgingly goes back to the report he was working on earlier.

 

 

 

 

 

After a long-ish car ride and an hour wading through heavy New York traffic, Betty and Reggie are finally leaving the concession stand in search of their seats. The MetLife Stadium is crowded (as per usual), but not overly so because the weather is chilly and very wet.

 

With a large popcorn in her hands, Betty settles in the middle of a plastic seat. Reggie Mantle slides in next to her easily.

 

“Beer?” He says with a grin.

 

“Yeah. I’d love one. Thanks.”

 

“Be right back, Coop. Hold my seat, will you?”

 

“Will do,” She says with a smile. Then, she proceeds to zip up her coat all the way up her neck. It’s cold, but even _this –_ watching a football game from an outdoor stadium _–_ beats doing coursework. As Betty rubs her hands together, she looks down at the field and grins.

 

When Reggie returns fifteen minutes later, he hands her a beer and takes a swig of a dark IPA. He makes a contented ‘ahhh’ sound, savoring the dark liquid against his palette. Then, he puts the beer down, throws his arms around her seat and says, “So, Coop, it’s none of my business, but I saw you and Jughead at the holiday party – are you guys like _a thing_ now?”

“What,” she says, taking a swig of beer. She looks at him in surprise and proceeds to avert her gaze by looking at the field below.

 

“You and Jughead,” he says with a grin, “He’s your boyfriend now, right?”

 

Betty swallows hard. _Pretend that the referees drawing lines is interesting, she tells herself, then he’ll leave it be._

 

“Never mind, sorry for being nosey,” Reggie says as he turns back to watch the game.

 

“Were best friends,” she says, coughing after taking another sip of beer.

 

“Giiirrrl, what.” Reggie turns back to look at her and gives her a shit-eating grin.

 

“What?” She says honestly.

 

“Betty, does Jughead know your telling people you two are just friends?”

 

“What do you mean, Reg?” Betty fails to see the problem with what she’s currently doing. They _are_ friends ( _best friends_ to be exact).

 

“Oh please don’t tell me you _don’t know_ , giiiirrrrl. _Poor Jughead_.”

 

“What?”

 

“ _Betty._ Everyone saw you guys kissing at the party. People were talking about it. I missed it because I was too busy getting my tuition money’s worth of free booze, but yeah, that must have been _some kiss_.”

 

“Okay, and?”

 

“Mhmm, so tell me, Coop. Do you kiss all your friends _like that_?”

 

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Reg.” Betty bats her eyelashes, awaiting his response.

 

“ _Betty_ ,” He says in abject disbelief, his words drawn out as he adds, “ _Come on_.”

 

“What?” She takes a handful of popcorn and looks up at him.

 

“Well, if you’re going to be like that, at this point, all I can say is be nice to my boy, Jughead.” Reggie shakes his head in dismay and looks back at the football field.

 

 

 

 

 

When Betty gets home, she hangs up her pastel pea coat and turns around to fine Jughead lying on the couch in his pajamas with Oliver curled against his chest and a blanket draped across the lower half of his legs. He’s fast asleep. _Had he been waiting up for her?_ The answer appears to be a definitive _yes_. She grins and walks over to the couch. She stops in front of it, bends down and presses her lips to his. His eyes open sleepily when he feels her lips and warm breath dance against his face.

 

“Hi.” She whispers, her voice laden with tenderness and affection. 

 

“Hey,” he says awkwardly, setting Oliver down on the ground so the puppy can shake himself awake and walk over to his bed.

 

“Were you waiting up for me?” Betty sits next to him on the couch and turns to look at him. He looks so sleepy; she can’t help but grin.

 

“Yeah.” Jughead sits up straight and pulls her legs into his lap. One hand settles against her hip and the other rubs small circles against her knee.

 

“Aww, Jug. You didn’t have to do that.” _But it’s sweet to think that you waited up for me_ , she thinks to herself. His expression softens as she wraps her arms around his neck. She’s now situated comfortably in his lap; she smiles as she yawns, pushing her back against the couch.

 

“I wanted to.” It comes out sounding needier than he initially intended it to. He’s unable to look her in the eye and continues rubbing her knees instead. After another second, his hands move to cup her waist and his gaze moves downwards, focusing his eyes on her tweed sweater (sort of) as he thinks about the best way to go about this whole _I love you_ thing.

 

“Is everything okay? Betty runs her hands through his hair and holds his gaze as her fingers curl beneath his chin. She cranes her head forward, her smile inviting as ever as she says, “You said you wanted to talk earlier, remember? You texted me about it this afternoon?”

 

“Oh that,” He lies, “Never mind, _it’s fine_.”

 

“Okay, well I’m going to take a shower,” she says, pressing a gently kiss against his lips as she bats her eyelashes and whispers, “Wanna join me?”

 

Jughead swallows, “Er, no, that’s okay, Betts. You go ahead. I showered earlier.”

 

“Alright,” she leans in to kiss him again, whispering ‘be right back,’ against his lips. The words mean more than a mere promise of her imminent return, though. Of that much he’s sure because they’ve been sleeping together nearly every night now. Her words are a promise of things to come, a promise of certain activities they’ll be partaking in together later. _Unless_ , he pauses and considers whether or not this should be the night to confess his love for her – unless, he ruins everything and goes and does _that_. Then what?

His eyes are still shut when she disappears into the other room. He’s mulling it over. But whether he tells her tonight or tomorrow, _it’s time_ and _he knows it_.

 

While Betty is still in the shower, he grabs his phone and sends a single text to Veronica Lodge, making it plain to her that he’s ready and willing to confess his love to Betty, to tell her _everything_. And with a single swipe, the words **_I’m going to tell her before we leave for Thanksgiving, but I need your help_** appear on Veronica’s mobile screen.

 

Somewhere, in a penthouse suite on the Upper East Side, Veronica Lodge, who is now fully awake as she reads the text, looks at the screen with unbridled excitement. _Oh my god_ , he’s finally going to do it. Squealing beneath her silk covers, Veronica types quickly, **_Yes and yes. But how can I help you?_**

****

**_Visions of sugarplums_** , he responds, assuming a socialite of her caliber will catch the reference to the New York City Ballet almost immediately. He waits. Then, he sends a follow-up text explaining why he needs her help:   ** _I have the money, but a lot of the tickets have already sold out. He hits send._** Then he sighs and types in desperation, **_Ron, can you –_**

****

He receives her follow up texts almost instantaneously and smiles when he reads, **_Say no more. I’m on it_** , which is followed up with an emotive **_Yay!_**

****

_Thank God._ He knew she’d know what to do (or at the very least, _how_ to acquire said tickets). Jughead grins and leans back into the couch. This is happening, he thinks. In two days’ time, he was going to tell Betty Cooper that he loved her.

 

He just hoped this wouldn’t ruin everything.

 

 

 

 

 

He’s sitting in bed in his boxers when Betty comes out of the shower wrapped in nothing but a towel. She looks at him and smiles as she runs her hands through her damp hair. It’s dark in his bedroom this time of night, save for the dim lighting in the corner emitting an ethereal glow against the edge of his bedspread. She takes a single step towards him, biting her lip teasingly as a white line runs down her thighs and across the floor. As she takes another step forward, her hand brushes against the stereo; _Love Is Like Ghosts_ begins to play softly against the backdrop of the night, filling the room with song. And before he even knows what’s happening he’s on his back and _they're kissing_. Betty’s towel loosens slowly from around her midsection as his right-hand slides around her waist and the other hand is just _all over her_. Her hands comb through the edges of his hair as they kiss, tugging on the strands as his hands rub up and down her back.

 

“Betts—” He manages to whisper between kisses as her towel slides down her ivory skin.

 

“No more talking,” she says, kissing him hungrily and rubbing herself against him, the fabric of his boxers now straining beneath her.

 

“Betts,” he whispers once more, pulling his lips from hers so he can cradle her head, “Maybe we should take it easy tonight. We were up _so_ late last night--” _That_ and I _really_ need to tell you that I love you, but I won’t, not yet. For I’m afraid. If you don’t reciprocate, honestly, I don’t think I’ll be able to cope and I can’t not have you in my life, Betts. _You’re all I ever wanted_ is what I really want to say to you right now.

 

But Betty shakes her head. Her damp hair falls beneath her face as she looks down at him and presses her lips to his.

 

“Betts--” He’s nearly out of breath now as he says her name again for the third time.

 

“I want to, Jug. I _need_ this tonight, _I need you_.”

 

“Baby, I’m gonna make you feel _so good_ ,” He promises, breath hitching as he pulls her lips back to his. He pulls his boxers down and seconds later she sinks onto him, moaning as he moves beneath her, his hands steadying her hips and her hands on his chest as she rides him.

 

 

 

 

 

“I need you to skip you last class on Thursday,” Jughead says to her inside his car before she heads to work the next morning.

 

“I can’t, Jug, not with finals looming,” She shoots him a look of honest disappointment. For Betty Cooper, the veritable poster child of _the perfect girl next door_ , was never one to _just skip_. For her, old habits like being fastidiously punctual – even well into one’s adulthood – _die hard._

 

“You can,” he says, pulling her in for a kiss. “Do it for me, Betts. _Please._ Just this once. It’s the day before we leave for break and I’m almost certain your professor won’t even miss you. But _if_ you’re really that worried, tell him you _need_ to leave early due to the potential for ‘inclement weather’ this weekend – _I don’t know_ – make something up, okay? Besides, you’re not going to want to miss this, babe. Trust me.”

 

“Wait, seriously?”

 

“Yes,” He leans down and presses another kiss against her mouth, “Now stop asking questions or you’ll spoil the surprise.”

 

“But Jug, you know how impatient _I am_ ,” She says in earnest. 

 

“Oh _I know_ , and I’m going to relish watching you squirm this week in anticipation, babe.”

 

As Jughead watches Betty disappear into the east wing of the humanities building, he notices that her hair is in a bun today instead of her usual ponytail, which immediately conjures of images of them in their younger years. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s taking her to see _The Nutcracker_ (or, maybe it’s the fact that he’s in love with her), but either way, he smiles and can’t help but think of the time in eighth grade when she was the lead in Riverdale Middle School’s rendition of _Swan Lake._

…

Ten years ago.

 

Betty Cooper wasn’t always a cheerleader. Before the summer she turned pretty and was forced to endure her mother’s incessant suggestions that her daughter should ‘be more sociable’ and ‘make more of an effort with her appearance,’ Betty was, during her more formative years, a ballet dancer.

 

She had gotten pretty good at her craft at one point – good enough star as the lead in a school production of _Swan Lake_ that the drama teacher put on that fall (mostly to appease the parents, whose kids – the _would-be_ Julliard hopefuls – were part of the upper echelons of Riverdale’s collective upper-middle class). Of course, once Betty got the news from the drama teacher that she had landed the lead role in the ballet, she _had_ to find Jughead and share the good news. And find him she did, sitting at the back of the bleachers, sulking as he scribbled something into his journal about Jocks.

 

_Yes Virginia, modern day caveman dwell among us and they grunt during sex too –_

Jughead looked down at his work, grinning at his own ingenuity. It was the only time he had smiled that day until he looked up and saw Betty walking up the bleachers, her braces glinting in the sun as she smiled. _She’s so pretty_ , he thought idly. Betty Cooper, my best friend _(and_ partner in crime).

 

“I knew I’d find you here, Jug. I have something to tell you,” she says excitedly, jumping up and down as she claps her hands tightly, “I got it, Jug, I got the part.”

 

“What?” He grins and sets his journal aside, “That’s great, Betts.”

 

“I know!” She beams excitedly, “I can’t wait to tell my mom.”

 

“But I thought you said that your mom wanted you to be a cheerleader next year.” He shoots her a knowing grin and cocks an eyebrow at her.

 

“Oh, never mind her,” Betty waives her hand dismissively.

 

“If you say so,” he says a little sheepishly as he half smiles.

 

“Jug. Listen, I need to ask you something. It’s a small favor.” She says, watching for an any clear signs of reluctance.

 

“I’m all ears, Betts. Shoot.”

 

“Can you – _would you_ consider helping Dilton with the stage lights – _please?_ The drama teacher said we’re short staffed in that department and sent me to round-up recruits.”

 

“Oh Betts, I don’t know, I’m not really that tech savvy--” He concedes.

 

“ _Please?_ You’d be helping everyone and I’m sure Dilton will show you the ropes.” She clasps her hands together tightly, pulling them against her chest, hoping he’ll give in to her light pleas.

 

(But for her, he’d do just about anything).

 

“I guess,” He gives her a playful roll of his eyes, which causes Betty to jump up and down excitedly in response.

 

A second later her arms come around his neck and she presses her face to his chest. “Thank you, thank you!”

 

“Yeah yeah, but you owe me, Betts. I usually spend my Friday nights at Pop’s _writing_."

 

“ _I know_. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. You can come over this weekend and raid our pantry, deal?”

 

“Betty Cooper, are you _bribing me_?”

 

“Yes,” she gives him a cheeky smile, her braces shining as the light hit the edges, “Is it working?”

 

“I mean, I think with my stomach partly, so yeah – _deal_.” He says with a smirk as he grabs his journal from the top of the metal bleacher and slings it beneath one arm.

…

So, in the eighth grade, Jughead Jones begrudgingly agreed to assist with the behind the scenes action for the school’s amateur production of _Swan Lake_.

…

But something happened the eve of the final dress rehearsal—

 

Jughead was pulling a velvet curtain back when he saw Betty come out of the dressing room in her onstage costume. It had clearly been altered since the last time he’d seen it; she had showed it to him one weekend when they were hanging out in her room. She had danced around her bed with the delicate fabric draped over her figure in front of the mirror as _I got a pocket, got a pocketful of sunshine_ blared in the background, causing Jughead to roll his eyes as he doodled scribbles in the corner of his journal. But seeing it draped over her versus _on her_ were two entirely different things he now realized as he felt his face flush. The sleeves of the leotard were made of a sheer, white lace and its center, which was covered with white and silver sequins was low-cut, but had an opaque material covering the dip, presumably to keep the fabric from moving when she danced on stage. Upon further inspection, he noticed that the tulle skirt puffed out at its center and created a cloud of soft fabric, delicately encircling her waist.

 

“Well,” she said, half-curtsying, “How do I look, Jug? The feathers, she said pointedly, pulling at the barrettes in the back of her bun, “Do you think they’re _too much_? I wanted to look as _in costume_ as possible, and swans,” she gesticulates as she explains her thought process further, “They definitely require feathers. I looked up the hair and make-up used by the Russian ballet for inspiration. They have roughly the same up-do as I the one I have now,” she said pointing to her head, “Only there’s look a bit _nicer_.”

 

But Jughead just stared. For some reason, Betty looked _really_ pretty. Not that she didn’t look pretty before mind you, but something was decidedly different about _this_ Betty Cooper, the one now standing before him dressed in lace with a touch of shimmer. She looked every bit _a woman_ , which he fond embarrassingly alluring as he felt his pants strain (something that had been happening more and more frequently as of late; he chocked it up to the unfortunate status quo he was in midst of – puberty – and tried, but failed to ignore it as his eyes took her lithe form in. He averted his gaze from her chest and the very low neckline of her dress as he fixed his gaze on her face.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that, Jug?” Betty says teasingly.

 

“Huh, what?” For the first time ever, he found himself rendered speechless over a girl (nay, _woman_ ), who happened to be his best friend in the world; he was unable to respond to her questions with the most basic of words.

 

“Well, aren’t you going to say something Juggie? Notice anything different about me?”

 

“You are dressed as a mythical creature?” He offers in a dead-pan _I don’t know, just fucking tell me_ kind of tone.

 

“ _Jughead_.” Betty says, stamping her cream ballet shoe against the wooden floors, “I got my braces off, silly. How did you _not_ notice?”

 

_Oh._

 

“I, uh, I mean, _I knew_ something was different, yeah – the braces – of course. How exactly does that feel, Betts? I guess I can’t call you ‘metal Betty’ anymore, huh?”

 

“Amazing,” Betty giggles, sliding her tongue over her newly-minted adult smile. “Well, I should be going, Ms. Smith is waiting for us, but I'll see you later.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Jughead says, letting go of the gold cord wrapped around the curtain, quickly shoving his hands in his pockets.

 

He watches her as she disappears down the hallway adjacent to the stage. 

…

But on the night performance, as he watched her glide across the stage, something changed. He watched her dance with both awe and a renewed curiosity, her flowing tulle skirt dancing in and out of the light. But what was _this_ he was feeling? He felt it in his chest, his gut. The sensation was tangible, painful; it was a resounding ache he’d never felt before (not at this level anyways). But he had been experiencing other things around her lately (although Betty wasn’t necessarily the cause, more so an innocent catalyst to it all). His voice had already been cracking the last few months; it had finally settled this month on a deeper sounding pitch, signaling that he was becoming, inevitably, a man now (a man, with _very_ adult thoughts that were, on occasion, intrusive and inappropriate).  As Betty twirled in his direction, smiling as she whirled past him, tulle curling around her ankles, he had a singular thought, for he knew what this feeling was now—

 

He was in love.

\--

As Jughead waited for Betty to get home from work, he recalled that time fondly knowing that she was going to be floored by his surprise.

…

And afterwards, he would tell her.

...

 

 

 

 

 

“Jug?” Betty yells from the foyer, “I’m back.”

 

“In here, Betts.”

 

Betty walks into the living room and glances in the direction of the couch. She’s startled to find a _slightly_ dressed-up Jughead Jones wearing a long-sleeved button-up.

 

“Jug, why are you dressed like that?” She looks at him curiously, smiles and raises an eyebrow pointedly.

 

“Because,” he says, hands brushing down Oliver’s fur, “I’m taking you somewhere tonight and you kind of _need_ to be dressed up for it.”

 

“But Jug, we’re--”

 

“Leaving tomorrow for Thanksgiving. I know _,_ Betts. It’ll be fine. Now get your ass in your room and get dressed.”

 

“Not until you tell me where we’re going,” she says excitedly, hand on her hip as she purses her lips together, " _Well?_ "

 

“Fine,” He says, setting Oliver down against the couch cushions. He sits up slowly and pulls two paper tickets out from his coat pocket. But as Betty walks closer to him he snatches them away from view, “Nah uh, Betts. Not without a kiss _first_.”

 

Betty rolls her eyes and plants a light peck against his lips. When she’s finished she looks at him and says with a smile, “ _There_. Now, _let’s me see_.” She grabs the tickets from his hand and places them directly in her line of vision.

 

“Wow, that seemed rather insincere.” He cocks on eyebrow at her, watching her expression change as she reads the letters on the tickets.

 

Betty looks carefully at the papers, her eyes growing wide with excitement as she reads the black font at the center of each ticket;

 

**NEW YORK CITY BALLET**

**-Proudly Presents-**

**George Balanchine’s _The Nutcracker_**

**< ADMIT ONE>**

**____**

**Nov. 22 nd, 2017**

**David H. Koch Theater, Row 2B-14**

 

“ _Oh my god_ , are these _real?_ ” Not that he would buy fake tickets, _but still._ He would have to go out of his way to get _these_ ( _just for her!_ ). She he had been wanting to see the Nutcracker ballet for months now ( _months!_ ) and between both of their schedules and her distinct lack of funds, it just wasn’t going to happen (that and the tickets were basically sold out within weeks).

 

“Yes. Now,  _go get dressed_.”

 

Betty flings her arms around his neck and squeezes tightly, “I can’t believe it, Jug, I thought all the tickets to the Nutcracker were _sold out!”_

 

She pulls her face from his neck, smiles, and kisses him passionately. Then, she turns around and practically sprints to her bedroom.

 

Meanwhile, Jughead settles back onto the couch with a grin as he waits for her to thrown on something a bit more formal.

 

 

 

 

 

They stop for Italian food first.

 

Jughead made the reservations well ahead of time at a semi-expensive restaurant two blocks from the auditorium. They make a bit of small talk before their food comes out, holding hands across the table as Betty giggles at his off-color jokes and sardonic political remarks.

 

“Are you having a good night so far, Betts? I figured you could use the break before we descend into the inevitable fray that is Alice Cooper’s _home for the holidays_.”

 

She nods, “Thanks for this, Jug.”

 

“You’re welcome, babe.” He looks down at the white table cloth and rubs her hand with his thumb.

 

Afterwards, they walk to the theater. A beat later, after they’ve shuffled past an elderly couple, they take their respective seats; the lights dim instantly as Tchaikovsky’s _Overture_ begins to play beneath the stage. Betty is enthralled the entire time she watches the ballet. _One, two, three._ He watches her as she watches the ballerinas shift positions across the stage, each mimicking the other dancers as they take turns with each choreographed move. In no time at all (for Jughead failed to notice the passage of time because he was watching _her_ instead of the ballet, probably) an intermission is called and suddenly, he’s nervous.

 

As they settle back into their seats, Jughead hopes that nothing will go wrong. He quiets that nagging feeling in the back of his head, threatening to take away his peace as the show starts again.

 

_What if she doesn’t feel the same way?_

_Dude, stop. She will._

_But –_

_What if?_

 

He pushes the thought out of his mind and continues watching the show, grabbing her hand and placing it on his knee. He can feel her smile at him in the darkness before she looks back at the stage.

 

 _She will_ he says to himself, _she has to_.

 

 

 

 

 

They’re still kissing on the stairwell before they even make it inside the apartment.

 

“We should _probably_ go inside,” he says in-between kisses.

 

“You’re right,” she whispers, kissing him again, “The old broad next door, she might see--”

 

“And we wouldn’t want that, _would we?_ ” He sticks his tongue down her throat and pulls her waist flush against his.

 

Betty shakes her head as they kiss, fumbling with the doorknob as Jughead grabs the keys from his coat pocket. They’re inside in two seconds flat; Jughead slams the door to their apartment shut with his foot, still kissing her as he walks her backwards towards his room. Once they're at the threshold, he picks her up and carries her the rest of the way.

 

Now that they're both in bed, she crawls into his lap, wraps her arms around his neck, and presses her lips to his. He knows this is _the moment_ and that he should probably _say it now_ before he makes love to her. But their faces are so close now, so very close. And when she leans down again, his hands cradle her back and he kisses her. Betty bites her lower lip and dips her hands below her waist, lifting the hem of her shirt up and over her head.

 

“These – I love these,” he says hoarsely, bending down to kiss the edge of her lace bra. “They seem bigger today, babe,” he whispers against her collarbone as Betty giggles at the reaction she’s getting out of him. He’s seen them now a dozen times, but that doesn’t stop him from staring at them and _touching them_ in admiration _every single time. (_ And  _if_  he's being honest with himself _,_ he’s still insecure about their lack of a proper label on their relationship, for in the back of his mind now, every-time he's with her could be _the last time_ and he is loath to waste it).  

 

Their breaths grow ragged and their chests heave up and down as they kiss each other hungrily. Betty pulls her tights down to her ankles as Jughead quickly yanks his slacks down. They don’t even bother undressing fully as she straddles him and he grips her hips. He gets her to _yes_ in no time at all – ‘that’s it baby, almost there’ (apparently, taking her to the ballet was foreplay enough for her as he watches her lips part in pleasure above him) and with one final thrust of his hips she moans his name as his hands tighten around her waist and _it’s over_.

 

Afterwards she looks down at him with so much ardor and lust in her eyes that he almost chokes out an _I love you_ but stops himself at the last minute, burying his face in her neck instead. His confession is nearly on the tip of his tongue again as he pulls his face from her neck and looks at her, his breathing still coming out in short spurts as he runs his hand down her face, smiling softly as he looks her in the eyes.

 

“Jug, why are you looking at me that way?” Her voice is a whisper.

 

He swallows and touches her pink cheeks and parted lips, stroking them with his fingertips as his ragged breaths fall on her face.

 

“What is it?” She lets out a nervous laugh as she looks down at his face and tucks a stray curl behind his ear. He looks so vulnerable in this moment, more so than she’s seen in a while and it makes her feel anxious suddenly as she waits for what he’s about to say next.

 

“ _Betty_.”

 

“What?”

 

"Baby, _I love you_."

 

His admission catches her so off guard that she doesn’t know what to say or how to even respond ( _I love you too_ would be appropriate thing to say back because she _does_ love him, but can’t quite find the words).

 

“I love you, Betty Cooper,” he repeats with conviction, “I _always_ have.” _It feels so good to finally say it_ , he thinks as he threads his fingers through her hair and down her neck.

 

But Betty is having a hard time with his admission as years of her repressed feelings for him come flooding back suddenly; _oh my god, so this entire time, he_ –. Tears sting her eyes as the magnitude of what he’s saying finally hits her.

 

“Betty, baby, what’s the matter?” His eyes darken as he looks up at her.

 

“This, us – _we can’t_.” Betty bites her lips and shakes her head.

 

“Betty,” her name comes out sounding like a desperate whisper, his fingers combing through her hair and cradling her head as he looks at her, “Why not?”

 

“Because,” she says in confession, “It will ruin _everything_.” She’s crying now as she attempts to pull herself off him.

 

“Betty, baby, look at me,” he pulls her face back to his in what feels like a futile attempt to get her to make eye contact, to acknowledge what he's just said, “Talk to me, please. Don’t run away.”

 

“We can’t,” she shakes her head, pulling away from him slowly and she looks down, starring at the bedsheets with a heavy heart.

 

“Why not, Betts? Nothing has to change, babe, and _I think_ you love me too, I know you do. Say it, _please_.” He looks at her, eyes searching for some sort of indication that she feels the same. He swallows as he chokes out, “Tell me you love me too.”

 

“ _I can’t_. This will ruin everything."

 

She collects herself quickly, pulling a shirt over her head as Jughead watches her helplessly. She runs out of the room but before she can get too far, Jughead tries to stop her by grabbing her by the elbow. He turns her body around gently, but forcibly.

 

“Betty – _wait_. Let’s talk about this.”

 

‘We can’t,’ comes out in between sobs, followed by ‘I won’t risk it, I won’t risk _us_.’ She grabs Oliver from the couch and places him against her chest and runs down the hallway, slamming her bedroom door behind him as he very nearly reaches the threshold. When she’s inside her room she cries with her back to the door as he knocks on it in desperation, now in nothing but his boxers.

 

“BETTY – _please talk to me!_ ” He has tears in his eyes now too. But he doesn’t cry, not yet. After several minutes, he discovers that her door is locked and finally gives up, sinking down with his back against it. He sits on the floor and breathes in the wetness beneath his nose; he runs a hand through his mussed-up hair and thinks about tomorrow.

 

Tomorrow; it’s going to be the most awkward car ride of his life, he thinks, because she _and he_ are (or rather, _were_ ) supposed to be going to Riverdale _together_ to spend Thanksgiving at her parents’ house.

 

Jughead covers his face with his hands.

__ 

To be continued.

 

 

__

 _**This chapter was immensely difficult to write.** _ _**As always, comments are appreciated. -Starry <3** _

 


	8. alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Repressed memories of a night Betty and Jughead shared together six years ago resurface.
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> And, the aftermath from the previous evening.

_You don't know how long I have wanted_

  
_To touch your lips and hold you tight, oh_

  
_You don't know how long I have waited_

  
_And I was going to tell you tonight_

  
_But the secret is still my own_

  
_And my love for you is still unknown_

  
_Alone_

 

**-Alone, Heart (Written by Billy Steinberg and Tom Kelly)**

 

__

Six years ago.

 

The rain, lulling and mild, beats languidly against the windowsill as Betty lays wide-awake in her bed. She’s facing the wall, listening to the steady sound of the rain outside as it pelts against the window.

 

_Pitter-patter, pitter-patter._

She’s thinking of nothing in particular – except, perhaps, the inevitable feeling of change. Come fall, she’ll be moving away from Riverdale and _this_ – her childhood bedroom, which often felt like her _only_ refuse from the outside world, will no longer be so. Her heart flutters nervously as she considers this alternate reality and what it’ll be like to wake up somewhere that isn’t _home._ When she tires of such thoughts, she yawns and shuts her eyes.

 

_Pitter-patter, pitter-patter._

 

The last thing she thinks of before nodding off is a song;

 

_Close your eyes, give me your hand, darling_

_Do you feel my heart beating_

_Do you understand_

_Do you feel the same_

_Am I only dreaming_

_Is this burning an eternal flame_

 

She hums softly against her pillow and drifts into a dream.

 

 

 

 

…

 _It’s really coming down now_ , Jughead laments internally as he runs around the side of the Cooper’s house in the pouring rain. It’s dark now, the sky is a fusion of pitch – ink and purple hues cloud his senses as he trudges onwards, walking towards the back gate in the middle of the fence, trying, but failing, to gather his wits about him. He pushes the wet hair from his face, shivering as he feels the dampness of the rain drip down his scalp. But the action proves futile as his hair untucks itself from behind his right ear and an unruly strand falls back into the front of his face. He feels water droplets slide down his cheeks, soaking the collar of his flannel shirt as he shoves the back door to the Cooper’s backyard wide-open. Then, he walks across the expanse of wet grass, his chest heaving in and out as he breathes in the rain until he finally reaches the back end the house. He’s feeling nothing but despair at this point, and Betty – the human embodiment of a living, breathing sanctuary – is, quite literally, his last refuge. He looks up at Betty’s window and hopes to god her lights are still on – _they aren’t_.

 

 _Could this night get any worse_ , he bemoans as he quickly scans the darkness of their yard for what he so desperately needs – a ladder. But it’s hard to see amidst the wet night and he can feel his blue eyes straining in the darkness. After a beat, he finally locates his stairway to heaven, nestled inside an alcove beside a nearby bushel of verbenas, a favorite hiding place for aphids in the summer heat. _Thank god_ , he breathes as he yanks the ladder away from the niche in the wall with an abject determination to get inside before the rain, which is now pouring rather than sprinkling, worsens.

 

He lets out and exasperated huff and carries the ladder over to the place directly below Betty’s windowsill. Though his gait falters momentarily, he steadies the ladder against the wall and holds it in place without shaking. Then, he proceeds to play a real-life game of chutes and ladders, pushing up the middle portion of the metal ladder – _ouch_ , its feels like ice, raw and wet against the palm of his hand, sliding down precariously as he angles both sides of the metal against the ledge of Betty’s window. After about five seconds (in-between yelling an expletive into the night as the rain in the darkness blinds his vision (albeit temporarily), the ladder comes into alignment with the windows ledge. He lets the metal slide down his hands as the bottom of the ladder hits the sodden terrain. It is only then that he notices what looks like a dangerous emulsion of mud and clay at its base, threatening to give way as he begins scaling the ladder, steadying each foot as he moves upwards. When he reaches his destination, he grips the side of the window with one hand and bangs on the glass with his free palm.

 

_Thump, thump._

 

“ _Betty_.” He yells her name once, giving her a second to wake up and acknowledge his presence. (it _is_ the middle of the night after all, and he can’t imagine she won’t be at least somewhat startled by a dark silhouette appearing suddenly in her window).

 

And so, Jughead waits.

 

And waits.

 

But when she doesn’t rouse from her sleep, the panic begins to set in.

 

Another minute passes.

 

He can feel dampness through his undershirt now, which means his Sherpa jacket is completely soaked through. The rain, it appears, isn’t getting any lighter, so he tries again, frantic this time as he feels the ladder slipping beneath the puddle of mud that’s growing rapidly as the rain pelts against the terrain beneath his feet.

 

“ _Betty!_ ”

 

Betty opens her eyes and sits up straight as a resounding _boom!_ echoes across the roof and down her bedroom walls. _It’s only lightening_ she realizes as she wakes from her somnolence. She yawns and looks over at her window to see where the noise is coming from. _Oh my god_ , she realizes suddenly as Jughead’s blearily form registers in view, “Coming,” she yells, quickly hopping off her bed and running over to the window. She unlatches the lock in its center and shoves the panel open forcefully.

 

Relieved, Jughead climbs through the window and pushes past her; his body lands against the carpeting and right as it does, the ladder leans to the left and falls to the wet earth below with a _whoosh!_ and a _thump!_ Betty gasps as she watches the ladder fall and come to a mud-covered standstill and quickly shuts the window. She turns around to find Jughead shuddering and clutching his arms. He looks distressed. He’s standing in a rigid, upright position like he’s trying to maintain a façade of calm, but his gait says otherwise as his rigid posture falters and his teeth chatter.

 

Betty rushes over to him, running her hands up and down his arms, “Juggie, you’re soaked.” He looks more than a little worse for wear and for him to be here _this late_ , something must have happened. At this point, her concern for him is evident on her face as she looks up at him and places one hand against his cheek.

 

His lip quivers as he looks at her. Save for her, he has, truly, no one to turn to.

 

“Jug, what is it?” Her voice is a whisper in the darkness of her room. She strokes his cheek lightly and waits for him to say something.

 

“ _Betty_.” Her name comes out sounding like a plea. His hands cease shaking as he runs them across his chest and down his arms.

 

“What is it, Jug? What’s happened?” She urges, her tone soft but fervent.

 

“It’s my dad, Betts.” It feels shameful to say it, to tell her what happened to him and his father earlier that evening. But Jughead knew this was coming; it wasn’t a complete surprise, _but still_. Having one’s father arrested isn’t exactly idle chit-chat – and he knows this of course – but that doesn’t make recounting said facts to her an easier.

 

In Riverdale, a town far too small to even be on the map, shadows and civilians _talked_. Word around town was that ‘FP Jones’s days as Riverdale’s resident gang leader were numbered’ and that ‘he’d get his comeuppance sooner or later.’ (But in all likelihood, Jughead decided, a rival gang or one of his own had ratted him out for reasons unbeknownst to him).

 

And now, Jughead Jones, desperate for human contact and any semblance of comfort Betty Cooper could give to him, finds himself in the bedroom of his only friend; his posture stiffens as he avoids all eye contact with her and stares solemnly at the carpeting.

 

He sounds so serious that it scares Betty momentarily, so she runs her hand down his arm and laces her fingers in his. “Jug,” she urges, concern evident in her tone, “What happened? You can tell me anything. You know that.”

 

“My dad—. He was just arrested again and _this time_ , he’s _not_ coming back—” is all he manages to choke out before he begins to sob uncontrollably. He hadn’t meant to do this – cry in front of her – but there was no longer any point in putting on a brave face, no, not when his entire world was imploding right before his very eyes.

 

“Oh my god.” Betty covers her mouth with her hand as she watches him cry. He just stands there powerlessly, hugging his arms, looking both helpless and exhausted.

 

“It’s gonna be okay,” she whispers as she pushes her arms through his and encircles them around the small of his back. She feels his arms wrap around the backside of her neck as he buries his face in her hair. They hold fast to one another as he weeps. Betty feels his weight press against her for what feels like an inordinate amount of time.

 

(But in actuality, it was a mere five minutes).

 

“Jug?” She pulls her face away from the crook of his neck, looking deep into his eyes as she pushes the hair from his face, “Stay,” she barely manages to say, rubbing her fingers against his scalp.

 

He stops crying suddenly as their eyes meet in the darkness and he sucks in his breath. His hands pull away from her neck and come around her face.

 

_Kiss her._

 

He stares at her for a moment as he cradles her face, eyes softening as they travel downwards to glance at her lips and back up to her face again. If ever there was an opportune moment to kiss her, this was it.

 

“What?” It’s not really a question because she knows that he’s about to do. And she wants him to. She’s wanted this ( _them)_ for so long now that her gaze falls directly on his lips.

 

His thumbs skim the edge of her cheeks as he pulls her lips closer to his. The edge of his top lip _almost_ touches hers when suddenly, the distinct sound of thunder strikes outside her window again—

 

_Boom! Boom!_

 

A flash of white light turns night to day as thunder claps around the house, drumming down the walls and shaking the center of the roof; the bang en masse manages to rattle them both as Jughead promptly abandons his hold on her face.

 

Startled, Betty pulls away from his arms with a gasp. The distant sound of thunder dispels quickly as she says rather unsteadily (not from the noise, but because _they almost kissed_ ) – “The window – I forgot to shut it.” So, she does just that. She turns around deliberately so she doesn’t have to look him in the eyes; she can feel her cheeks heating and although her room is dark, she doesn’t want him to see. The blush on her face serves as a tell-tale sign of her feelings for him, feelings that – until now – she hadn’t dared utter aloud. She slides the window down and secures it, adding, “I’m glad you came here after tonight. I’m glad _that_ – that you felt comfortable enough _to_.”

 

When she turns around he’s still looking at her and his hands are in his jean pockets.

 

“Towels,” she says aloud, “Let me get you some towels, Jug. You can use my bathroom to shower if you like.”

 

“But Betts—” _Are we ever going to talk about us_? He wants to ask, but he doesn’t. Instead, he asks, “What will I sleep in? Your bed – I don’t want to get it dirty.”

 

“I’ll get you a pair of my dad’s clean pajamas from the laundry room to sleep in.”

 

“Betts are _you sure?_ ” As in, are you sure you don’t want to talk about _us?_

 

“Of course he won’t mind, Jug.” She wonders idly how that’s even a question now after he’d spent the holidays with them, but then she remembers how rough he’s had it. She can’t even imagine being in his shoes and it makes her feel sad.

 

“Okay,” he says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“Be right back, okay?” She grasps his hands lovingly and places a swift kiss against his cheek.

 

“Yeah, okay,” he says with a bashful grin, watching her as she disappears behind her bedroom door and down the dark hallway.

…

After he showers and changes, he climbs into bed with her. He opens his arms to her and they talk for a little while about nothing at all.

 

And when sleep comes, Jughead embraces it (and _her_ ) with open arms.

 

 

 

 

…

Sometime in the middle of the night (he isn’t certain of the true time, really, for the darkness has a funny way of making every time seem like the same time, even though it’s not), Jughead opens his eyes to find two green pupils staring back at him. Without thinking, he pulls his hand out from the covers and reaches over to touch her face. But surprisingly, Betty doesn’t falter as he strokes her hair and cheeks. Instead, as if to encourage him, she places her hand on his forearm and grasps it tightly.

 

“Thanks for letting me stay here, Betts.” He says gently as he continues stroking her face with the tips of his fingers. He watches her eyelids flutter and as his hand moves down her face, her lips part when his thumb strokes the sensitive part of her neck.

 

“Anytime,” she whispers as she holds his gaze.

 

“No, really. I mean it, Betts. I don’t know where I’d be without you. I don’t really—.” He doesn’t want to say the words aloud.

 

“What?” She offers. Her hands are now in his hair as she edges closer to him, “You said, ‘ _I don’t really_ ’— and then you stopped. Why?”

 

He looks her dead in the eyes and says, “I don’t really have anyone.”

 

“That’s _not_ true.” She scoots her body closer to his and her hands go around his neck.

 

“It’s not,” he stutters as his hands move down to her waist. He can feel her inching forward – he is too – as her thighs and knees brush against his legs.

 

Betty shakes her head _no_ , which causes Jughead to smile in the darkness. They stay like that for a little while longer, staring at one another; they’re both afraid to move, so Betty decides that she should be the one to say what they’re both thinking (but clearly avoiding _doing_ ).

 

“Jug?” She urges gently, the uncertainly evident in her voice.

 

“Yeah, Betts?” He’s touching her lips now, running his fingers over the top of her pout as their breaths in the most natural reaction grow ragged.

 

“Are _we_ – I mean, what I _meant_ to say is – _do you_ —”

 

Jughead’s fingers curl around the back of her neck as he pulls her face to his and covers her lips with his. The very first kiss is soft but certain. And when he pulls his lips from hers and she gives him the warmest smile he’s seen from her in a long time. So, he does it again, wrapping his arms around her waist as they kiss and kiss and kiss.

 

Sometime in-between the kisses he’s planting down her neck, lips lingering against her skin to breath in its softness, Betty decides she wants to feel his skin against hers. She brushes her tiny hands against his bare torso, purposefully exploring the grooves just above his waistline. Then, she buries her hands beneath the fabric of his shirt, so she can feel his warm skin. They don’t exchange any words – they don’t need to – the silent glances shared between them are enough. Jughead looks down at her, panting as he watches her peel his cotton night shirt up and over his head, happily moving his arms up in compliance. _I’m yours_ , he wants to say. Then, when his chest is laid bare, she presses her palms against it, sliding them up and down his skin, her fingertips exploring his abs. Her grip on his chest only encourages him further as he toys with the hem of her shirt, too, pulling it up past her naval as she eases her back against the mattress.

 

“Is this okay?” His breath is husky and thick against her skin as his breath and lips touch the smooth planes of her stomach, “Can I,” he says in-between planting a kiss above her naval, “Keep kissing you _here_ – _like this?_ ” He kisses her stomach again and looks up at her blushed face in the darkness.

 

Betty nods and bites her lip, watching him as he peppers kisses down her stomach. His lips finally stop where the hem of her underwear and pajama bottoms meet. Respectfully, he doesn’t go any further. Instead, he presses a chaste kiss against the hem of the fabric, just barely ghosting her skin above the hemline with his lips.

 

“Jug?” Her voice is tense, uncertain.

 

He looks up at her in the darkness, eyes dark and wild as they lock with hers; he studies her face for any signs of hesitation. “Is this too much, Betts?” He whispers, “Because we can stop.”

 

 _“No_ ,” she says with a simple headshake, “But first, before we go any further, I wanted you to know something.” Her face is moonlit and bright beneath the light of her window as he crawls back from the edge of her bed, planting his palms on either side of her.

 

“What is it, Betts?” His voice is a whisper as he looks down at her silhouette.

 

“I love you,” she says, cradling his head as she looks up at him. She sucks in her breath and exhales with a smile, feeling the tell-tale moisture of happy tears sting her eyes.

 

His response is a breathy _I love you too_ that comes out sounding like a desperate pant as he smothers her lips with his.

…

_Boom! Boom!_

…

In the dark of night, Jughead sits up suddenly as the sound of thunder fills the room. He looks down and to his utter astonishment he finds Betty sound asleep beside him. Save for her shirt that’s ridden up past her midriff, she’s still fully clothed. He sighs in disappointment when he realizes the entire thing – kissing her in places she’d never been kissed before, her spoken supplications begging him to go further: _Do you like that Betts, do you want more, baby_ – was nothing more than a dream, a cruel trick his psyche played on him.

 

It was only a dream, _right?_

 

But if it was just _a dream_ , then why did it feel _so real?_

 

‘Dreams are lies birthed in the mind,’ he mutters disappointedly before lying back down and falling asleep.

...

 

 

 

 

 

…

Present Day.

 

Jughead wakes up to the sound of his phone buzzing against the coffee table. He groans and rolls over to the side of the couch, running his hands through his mussed-up hair. The room goes silent once more and he shuts his eyes in relief. But then, two seconds later, it happens again. So, he sits up and swipes it off the glass to look closer at who the hell is calling _this early_.

 

**\--ALICE COOPER--.**

 

_Oh shit._

 

He shakes himself awake, swipes his thumb over the glass and pulls it to his ear, “Hello?”

 

“Well, thank goodness someone’s picking up their phone today. I’ve tried calling Betty’s phone three times now, Jughead, and she’s _still_ not responding. Can you please wake her up for me?”

 

 _We aren’t really on speaking terms_ he wants to say – and, _they aren’t_ , not after last night – _they haven’t even talked about what happened yet!_

“Er, once second,” he says, getting up from the couch and running his hand through his mussed-up hair. As he straightens out, he feels a pinch from the stiff position he’d slept in – god does his neck ache like _a mother_. The couch, he decides, was a terrible place to sleep last night; however, he needed to be ready just in case Betty came out of her room. But that didn’t happen. And now – as he hears Alice’s piercing voice echo against his ear – he wonders if his neck is sore from sleeping there _or_ listening to her.

 

( _Both_ , he decides as she yammers on about avoiding “holiday traffic”).

 

“Jug-head,” Alice adds as he stands in front of Betty’s shut door, “I didn’t think you’d mind, but Hal and I extended an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner to your father. In fact, he’s here right now. He’s out in the garage with Hal working on some ‘mechanical thing’ or another.”

 

 _And_ there’s no getting out of this now, Jughead thinks. _Fuck._

 

“Um, that was nice of you guys – thank you,” he manages to say with sincerity as his knuckles almost rap against Betty’s door. But he hesitates at the very last second - should you really be wakening her this early? He wonders if he should wait a bit longer before waking her up.

 

“Is she getting ready? Do you hear her in there, Jughead? Listen—” he hears beeping in the background, as Alice sighs and adds, “I need to go check on the pies in the oven – wake her up for me will you, please. Tell her I plan on serving dinner early this year at two pm, sharp.”

 

“Yes,” he lies, “I will wake her up and I will tell her. Count on it.” That is, if she’ll even let me in her room. He sighs and looks down at the floor, hoping to see a sinkhole so that he can drop himself down it on purpose.

 

“Great. Thank you, Jug-head. I’ll see you two later. Goodbye.”

 

Jughead sighs and looks at Betty’s door. He places his hand against its front saying ‘Betts’ almost inaudibly as he listens against the door for sounds of movement.

 

After a minute, he moves his hand cautiously down to the knob and tries it. He’s surprised to discover that its unlocked, so he cautiously turns the knob and pushes the door open, “Betty, _baby_ \--.” _No,_ he stops himself from finishing that sentence. _Maybe_ , he thinks, you should avoid calling her _that_ from now on. _She doesn’t love you, dude._ This _is_ your reality now. He looks inside her bedroom and sees Betty asleep beneath her comforter. Oliver, however, is a different story. He’s sitting on the bed, waiting. And as soon as he sees Jughead, he sits up against the comforter, tail wagging excitedly.

 

Jughead walks over to the bed and stops in front of it, whispering ‘hey, boy’ as he pets Oliver’s soft head. He looks over at Betty, who’s still fast asleep and looks back at Oliver, “Let me wake up mommy and I’ll get you something to eat, okay?”

 

 _Ruff! Ruff!_ Oliver barks in protest; he’s having none of that, watching as Jughead walks around the side of the bed and stops in front of Betty’s bed and kneels.

 

Jughead sighs as he looks at Betty’s sleeping eyes, her face. _Why don’t you love me_? He wants to cry. Instead, he mans the fuck up and ever so softly traces her face with his finger and says, “Betts.”

 

Betty opens her eyes and looks up at his.

 

“Hey.” He manages softly.

 

“Hi.” She says with a tinge of uncertainty in her voice.

 

“Last night--” There’s so much unspoken tension in the room, from him mostly, he thinks, “D-did you sleep okay?”

 

Betty nods.

 

“Listen, Betts, I don’t mean to bother you, but – your mom – she just called my phone because she’s been trying to reach you. She wants us at the house by two for dinner.”

 

“Oh.” She says flatly, repeating what he’s said back to him, “Two?”

 

“Yeah,” Jughead says with a nod.

 

Betty sits up in bed and looks at Oliver who barks at her, “Okay, let me just get dressed. I already—”

 

“Packed the bags?”

 

Betty nods and looks up at him.

 

“I know. I’ll uh, I’ll just feed Oliver and put them in my car, okay? We can take my car if...if you like.”

 

“Yeah,” Betty nods, “That’s fine, I mean, do you—?”

 

“Still want to go?” _No_ , he wants to say, _my heart is broken, baby_. But he can’t, not with his father already there, so he says in a formal, matter-of-fact tone, “I um, I kind of have to now, Betts. My dad – your mom and dad invited him over and apparently, he’s already there, so--.”

 

“Oh.” She understands.

 

“Yeah. Anyways, let me get Oliver something to eat. There should be plenty of room in my trunk for _our_ – I mean, _his_ crate, he corrects, stopping himself at the very last minute from saying _our baby_.

 

“Okay.”

 

Jughead scoops Oliver up and throws him over his shoulder, disappearing out of the room and leaving Betty alone with her own thoughts. She thinks about how she’d acted the night before, how she’d treated him _so badly_ and so _not_ like herself. And, for whatever reason, today she feels a bit – _off?_

 

Unperturbed, she decides to shake off the feeling, ignoring it completely as she hops out of bed.

…

Once she’s dressed, she meets Jughead in the kitchen, who is now also dressed. He turns around and looks up at her, “Ready?”

 

She nods.

…

 

 

 

 

 

The car ride is uncomfortably silent for a half hour before Jughead parks in front of a gas station. Then, after filling up his vehicle, they’re off again. Betty has Oliver in her arms nestled beneath a blanket. She’s just staring into the distance. And Jughead doesn’t know what to say – _why don’t you love me?_ No, he’s not even going to go there. At least, not right now anyways.

 

They would deal with that elephant in the car _later._

…

When they’re twenty minutes from their destination, Jughead stops somewhere again and parks the car. But Betty isn’t even paying attention to him or anything except Oliver. He reappears ten minutes later carrying two large coffees and knocks on her window. She looks up and _oh_ , did he really _do that_ – get her a coffee without her even having to ask – and after she’d been so insufferable the night before. _God, Betty._ She rolls down the window as Jughead says softly, “I uh, I thought you could use this. I got you what you like.” He smiles and pushes the cold latte through the open expanse of the cars window.

 

“Thank you,” she manages to say with a grateful smile. What _I like;_ he always knows exactly what I need, she thinks, tearing up as he walks around to his side of the vehicle. Then, he places his coffee in the drink holder, revs up the engine and they’re off.

 

But the remainder of the car ride is troubling as neither of them says a word to the other.

…

 

 

 

 

 

A beat later, Jughead cuts off the engine and looks over at Betty, who dozed off somewhere between the end of the highway and the _Welcome to Riverdale!_ sign.

 

They were fast approaching suburbia soon, the likes of which were obvious to any sojourner, for each home in the tiny town of Riverdale was marked by rose bushes or white fence front and center of each home.

 

But to Jughead, who himself had sojourned at the Cooper residence after his father’s ill-fated arrest, this place felt, strangely enough, _like home_.

 …

 

 

 

 

 

They arrive at their destination with a few minutes to spare.

 

“You’re here, thank god,” Alice says quickly, taking Betty’s bag from Jughead and setting down in the foyer, “Well don’t just stand there you two, bring in the rest of your bags and go wash up. Dinner’s nearly ready.”

 

Betty trails behind him when Alice turns around and notices the new edition to their - _friendship?_ (Or, whatever they _are_ ).

 

“Mom,” Betty says with eyes of adoration, “This is Oliver. _Our_ new puppy.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Alice does not suppress her strange suspicion that something between Betty and Jughead has shifted – she isn’t sure what exactly – but something _is_ different. Her suspicions are only confirmed when Betty says—

 

“Jughead bought him _for me_. Isn’t he cute?” Betty lifts the puppy for her to look at him.

 

“Yes,” Alice manages to say with sincerity, “He’s very cute, Betty. May I?” Alice takes Oliver from her hands and pulls him against her body, looking down at him curiously. He _is_ cute Alice decides, far too cute to be a platonic “gift.” And as Polly comes running from the other room screaming ‘Betty, you’re here’ Alice looks up at Jughead, stills all movements in her face and raises one perfectly arched eyebrow at Jughead who immediately clears his throat as he looks down at the ground, scratching his neck awkwardly.

 

Still holding Oliver, Alice turns around so that Polly can see him.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Polly gasps, excitedly running her hands down Oliver’s ears, “Who’s this little guy?” Oliver yawns and looks up at Polly as Alice hands him off to her.

 

“I’ll go get your father and the rest of the guys. They’re still in the garage. Polly grab that last dish out of the oven, will you?”

 

“Sure thing, mom,” she says while cradling Oliver.

 

“His name is Oliver,” Betty says, looking down at him fondly.

 

“He is so cute. How did you come up with the name?” Polly looks up at Betty when Jughead clears his throat.

 

Jughead is still standing in the corner with his hands in his pockets. “We, uh, what I mean to say is, Betty and I--.”

 

“Got him from the pound.” Betty interjects, “Jughead got him for me. He’s a rescue.”

 

 _“Really_ ,” Polly says, looking up at Jughead to study him – he seems nervous, which is _odd_ ; Jughead’s been to the house dozens of times now – but her observations are suddenly interrupted by the sound of the oven going off. “I better get that. Here.” she hands Oliver back to Betty, and pats his head, “See you later, boy.”

 

Betty turns around and her eyes lock with Jughead’s. He pulls his gaze up from the rug at the front entrance, “Should I put my stuff in the living room, Betts? The couch – I can just sleep down here after everyone goes to bed.” He doesn’t want to make things anymore awkward for him (or her) than need be.

 

“ _Jug_.” Suddenly, she feels terrible – and she was terrible to him; in fact, and she doesn’t dare say it in her parent’s den – the apology that _needs_ to happen – but she decides that she was a complete bitch to him. They’ve known each other for years and suddenly he wants to sleep _there_.

 

_It’s because of me, she thinks. He doesn’t want to be around me anymore after what happened. Can you blame him, though? God, I’m such a bitch, she decides._

 

“It’s fine, Betts.” Let’s just do the best we can to make it through this weekend, okay. He picks up his bag and walks past her, throwing it behind the couch.

 

“Jug, wait,” Betty grabs his forearm, “You can sleep in my room, Jug. My bed’s big enough for two. You know _that_.”

 

“Betts—” He wants to tell her that he can’t do that – share a bad – not when he’s still in love with her and then there’s that other issue they still haven’t discussed. The fact remains that _she didn’t say it back_ and that makes him uncomfortable because he no longer knows where he stands with her and what they even are anymore. (Are they _anything?_ )

 

Their _almost_ talk is interrupted by the sound of Jason, Hal, and FP walking in through the backdoor.

 

“Hey Jughead. How’s it going? Jason says with a curt nod and a wave as Hal trails behind him.

 

“It’s – uh – it’s good, man,” he manages to say before his eyes lock with his fathers. Things are civil between them – good, even, just not as comfortable as they _could_ be.

 

“Well aren’t you going to say hello _to me_ , son?” FP says playfully, motioning at his chest.

 

“Oh you know me, dad. I’m a man of few words.” Jughead retorts with a smirk.

 

“And yet, your little scowl there says otherwise, smart-ass,” FP says, pulling him in for a hug. Jughead gives him a half smile and pats his back.

 

“Well,” Alice says, “Now that everyone’s here, let’s eat. Shall we?”

 

FP turns around as Jughead relaxes his shoulders. “That sounds great, Alice. Doesn’t it Jughead? He says, turning around to look at his son.

 

“Yeah,” Jughead smiles and says in admission, “I’m starving.”

 

“Me too,” Hal says with sincerity, clutching the dining room table as he looks to Alice for the greenlight to start eating.

…

 

 

 

 

 

Thanksgiving dinner is a welcome distraction for Jughead. He tries to focus his attention away from Betty and instead, talks with Jason as his father and Hal Cooper chat about cars because his father, who is now _finally_ sober and employed full-time, works at a local garage in town. But what Jughead doesn’t notice is Polly watching both he and Betty as their eyes accidentally lock on more than one occasion. She watches as they both turn their heads away from one another quickly like there’s something their avoiding but neither of them is saying.

 

And so, Polly decides, when she finally gets the opportunity to figure out what the hell is going on with her little sister and Jughead, she won’t hesitate to interrogate her.

...

 

 

 

 

 

That moment comes sooner rather than later.

 

Sometime in the middle of the dinner, Alice realizes that she’s left the whip cream in the fridge and stands up to get it.

 

“I got it mom.” Polly begins to stand up.

 

“I can grab it, Polly.”

 

“Great, _Betty_. I’ll come _with you_.”

 

If Jughead’s notices their awkward interaction, he doesn’t let on.

…

 

 

 

 

 

Betty walks ahead of Polly with her back turned.

 

“Found it,” she says triumphantly as she tries to push past Polly, who blocks her entrance to the dining room.

 

“ _Betty_.” Polly crosses her arms and tilts her head, which causes her blonde hair to cascade down the side of her face.

 

“What?”

 

“Jug-head, your best friend since grade school, bought you _a dog?_ ”

 

“Yes, _and?_ ” _Oh god_ , Betty thinks, I am so not having this conversation now. Betty tries to push past her, but Polly, who is determined to get to the bottom of the longing glances Betty and Jughead were exchanging during dinner, puts her hands on the wall to stop her.

 

“Betty.” Polly whispers, “Are you guys _together?_ Does mom know?”

 

“Keep your voice down, Polly, she’ll hear you.”

 

“Oh my god, finally!” Polly gives her sister a triumphant _I fucking knew it_ smile.

 

“We aren’t _together_ , Polly.” Betty says, in what sounds like a strange combination of a yell-whisper.

 

“Betty.” She calls her sisters bluff with the raise of an eyebrow.

 

“Okay, so we are – I mean, _were_ , that is, until last night.”

 

Polly’s brow furrows in confusion, “What happened last night?”

 

“I freaked out on him and now I don’t know what we are.”

 

“Wait, you freaked out on Jughead – why? And what do you mean, you _don’t know?_ Betty. You guys have been _a thing_ since high school.”

 

“We haven’t been _a thing_ , Polls.”

 

“Oh please. You and Jug have so been _a thing_. I caught you guys cuddling beneath the covers that one time, remember? Jughead stayed over the entire Christmas break _and_ if I’m remembering things correctly, your door stayed shut for most of the break, _didn’t it?_ You and Jughead would sneak off to ‘watch a movie,’ doing god knows what in that _Precious Moments_ styled bedroom of yours. So, don’t go telling me that you and Jughead were never _a thing_ because I know better. Friends don’t act like that, Betty. At least, none that I know of.”

 

“Look, I’ll tell you more later if you shut up, okay?”

 

That answer seems to satisfy Polly. She whispers, ‘you’d better’ as Betty walks past her carrying the cool whip.

…

 

 

 

 

 

After dinner, Jughead and the rest of the guys decide in unison that they will all follow Hal’s into the garage to watch ‘the game.’ Grateful for the distraction, Jughead even feigns interest in sports, getting up from the dining table to say, ‘yeah, I’m down for that – absolutely – who’s playing?” He says it with so much unbridled enthusiasm that even Polly takes notice. Jughead – a sports lover? _I don’t think so._ She looks over at him, raises her eyebrows to call his bluff and strangely enough, Jughead reads her nonverbal cue almost immediately – _you are so lying!_ He walks away from the table suddenly, grabbing his plate to clean it out of sheer politeness and then heads to the garage before even Jason finishes his meal.

 

And when he gets into the garage, he panics for a fleeting moment. ‘Get it together, Jughead.’ He shakes off the feeling before anyone can see his dejected state and probe him further, ask him embarrassing questions like _what’s wrong_ , to which he’ll reply, if he doesn’t start crying beforehand: _everything – god, leave me alone!_

 

Beer, he decides, that would be the apt thing to do in a situation like this. Just be one of _the guys_ , Jughead. Yeah, okay. This I can do. He immediately goes to the fridge and grabs an IPA, downing half of it before anyone sees him. Based on the look Betty’s sister was giving him at dinner, he now knows that Polly suspects something is (or rather, _was_ ) going on between he and Betty. He sighs and takes another swig of beer. He just hopes she has enough wherewithal to keep her suspicions to herself.

…

 

 

 

 

 

Betty decides to be the dutiful daughter and clean everyone’s plates (that and avoid Polly like the plague), so she’s grateful when her mother sidelines Polly into a cookie baking project for some bake sale Riverdale’s _Ladies of Charity_ are hosting the day after Thanksgiving.

 

But the distraction proves to be short-lived.

 

As soon as Alice leaves the kitchen, Polly looks over at Betty, who’s hands are buried in the sinks soapy water and says, “Your Room. Now.”

 

Betty knows there’s no avoiding this, so she rolls her eyes, muttering, “Just a sec, Polls,” as she dries her hands begrudgingly on the holiday towel with the gold-foiled leaves that Alice Cooper put next to the kitchen sink (and every subsequent bathroom in the house).

 

Betty stalls one last time at the stairway as Polly trails behind her, “Just picking up Oliver, Polls.” Oliver yelps as Betty throws him over her shoulder. Then, he tilts his head and looks down at Polly curiously as if to say: _Who are you, nosey lady?_

 

“Mhmm,” Polly says as they both ascend the stairs to their former childhood abode, “By all means, grab the little guy. I’m sure he’s seen and heard _a lot_.”

 

“Polly,” Betty hisses. She turns around and shoots her a look, _shut-up._

 

“Better hurry to your room, sis. Mom might come out and wonder where her holiday helpers went.”

…

 

 

 

 

 

“Well,” Polly says, crossing her arms at Betty as she shuts the door and goes over to sit on her old bed with Oliver. He squirms for a second, so she lets him hop out of her arms and walk around the bed, which he sniffs curiously.

 

“Well, what?”

 

“You said you’d tell me, Betty. So? You _and Jughead.._.”

 

Betty sighs and scratches the back of her head nervously. Then, will all the courage she can muster she looks up at Polly who’s now sitting on her bed too, head tilted curiously at her.

 

“I, uh, well, I finally lost my v-card.”

 

Clearly, whatever Polly was expecting her to say it certainly wasn’t that because as soon as she’s said it, Polly gasps and places her hand on Betty’s shoulder, “Shut up, you and Jughead.”

 

“Yes, no, _I mean_ —.” Betty presses her lips into a smile.

 

“Oh my god, Betty! You lost your v-card to Juggie?!”

 

“No,” Betty cuts her off, her tone serious suddenly, “Look, Polly, you can’t tell anyone about this okay? What I’m about to tell you, it’s embarrassing.”

 

“Okay,” Polly stills, her voice a little uncertain.

 

“I uh, I lost my virginity, yes. But not to Jug. Remember that guy, Archie?” She looks down at her comforter, tracing the stitching as she waits for her sister to put two and two together.

 

“Oh yeah, what happened with you two anyways?!

 

“Well, I um – _oh god_ , Polly, don’t judge me okay.” Betty looks down again, cupping her forehead ashamedly. She half winces, looking back up at her sisters worried face.

 

“Okay, but your scaring me now, sis. You have my word, this is a judgement free zone, so talk. What happened?” Polly’s eyes focus intently on Betty, waiting eagerly for her response.

 

“I lost it to Archie and god, Polly. It was horrible. I went home and cried the entire weekend. It was not what I’d imaged it would be _at all_.”

 

“Oh no, Betty.” Polly sighs a little and grasps her sisters shoulder.

 

Betty pulls her knees up to her chin and presses her forehead against them. “It was awful” Betty says, burying her face against her knees. She sighs and looks up at her sister again.

 

“That doesn’t sound good, sis, and I want to heart about that too – that is, if you even want to talk about it, which you don’t have to – but I’m afraid I’m not following here. How does Jughead fit into the picture?”

 

Betty sighs, “I told Jughead what happened, and he got upset. Then he said he would ‘fix my first time’ if that’s what I wanted. I decided I did and so _he did._ ”

 

“I knew something was going on between you two – wait – _he said what?!_ Oh my god, Betty. Jughead didn’t really say that to you, did he?!” Polly says incredulously.

 

“Say what?”

 

“Betty, look, I’m not trying to insult your intelligence, but how did you fall for _that_.”

 

“Fall for what?” Betty looks down at her bedspread and traces a loose thread. She didn’t fall for anything, not really. But this conversation is already hard enough and in truth, Betty knew exactly what they were doing. She just didn’t want to let herself see it – at least, not completely.

 

“Betty, stop being so naïve. You _know_ Jughead is in love with you. I mean, Betty, you had to have known that’s the real reason why he said what he did.”

 

But her sister stating the obvious has an unintended effect on Betty – she thinks of last night, she thinks of him pumping himself in and out of her, moaning _Fuck, baby, you’re so tight_ against her ear as he fucked her, holding her afterwards, the memory of which proves to be too much. And so, rather than respond to her sister, a well spring of tears fill her eyes up as she whispers, “I know.”

 

“Betty, what’s wrong?” Polly says softly, thumbing her sister’s shoulder.

 

“Oh, Polls," Betty says, "I’ve really fucked up everything so badly. Last night, Jughead took me out on this date; it was amazing – he took me out to dinner and afterwards he took me to see _The Nutcracker_ , which is almost always sold out by December, so that means he really went out of his way to get those tickets, you know? And then we, we—”

 

“Betty, hun, calm down. Look, if I had known this was going to upset you this much, I wouldn’t have bothered you about it.”

 

“He told me that he loved me, Polly.” She hadn’t meant to say as much, but the words began to slip and there was no stopping them.

 

“What, Polly whispers, smiling and looking into Betty’s green eyes. He said that? Jughead Jones, Mr. I’m weird, I’m a weirdo said _that?”_

 

“Yeah.” Betty says with a coy smile as she tilts her head to one side.

 

“Well did you say it back?

 

“No.”

 

“Well, why not, Betty?” Polly urges gently, stroking Betty’s arm up and down, “Do you not feel the same way? I find it hard to imagine that you’re having sex with Jughead and you don’t have any feelings for him.”

 

“No, I mean, _yes_ ,” Betty says, sobbing quietly, “we had just…we had just had sex and then he told me afterwards. I was so awful to him, Polly, _god_. I wasn’t expecting him to say that, so I freaked out and ran down the hallway and locked myself and the puppy in my room. I was horrible to him, Polls, and I have no idea why. I haven’t been feeling like myself these past couple of days. Maybe it’s stress, I don’t know.”

 

“Hey, shhh, it’s okay, don’t cry, sis. Listen, why don’t you just talk to him. I really think you need to clear the air, Betts.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“Well, why not?”

 

“Because, Polls, Jughead deserves to date someone that isn’t so affected by stress and well, _everything_ , I don’t know. I’m probably perseverating now, sorry. I just feel like he’s had it rough enough already and he doesn’t need a stressed-out nutcase like me bringing him down. But I feel so bad for treating him the way I did, you know?”

 

“Oh Betty.”

 

Betty begins to cry as Polly pulls her in for a hug. She feels Polly’s hand cradle the back of her head.

 

“Betty,” Polly strokes her hair, “Listen, Jughead knows you _pretty well_.” You don’t think he doesn’t already know that about you – what did you call it, ‘being affected.’ I’m pretty sure he knows you have anxiety, sis. That’s so secret, at least, not with him.”

 

Betty sucks in a half breath as tears spill from her face, “I mean, I don’t want to ruin our friendship, but I think we already have,” she says as tears fall again.

 

“Betty, hon, you aren’t making any sense. Do you want me to go get Jughead so you two can talk? It’s not like you to worry about things like this with him. He’s known you for years, babe. Have you forgotten that? Because it seems like you have.”

 

“No, Polly. Do _not_ get Jughead, okay? I think I’m just going to take a nap.”

 

“Betty, are you sure? It’s kind of early for sleep, don’t you think? I really think you two should talk things out.”

 

“Yes,” Betty says, as tears fall from her eyes again.

 

“Okay, sis. Polly kisses her sister’s forehead, Get some rest okay? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you need it.”

…

 

 

 

 

 

“Everything okay, Jug?”

 

Jughead barely registers the voice of his own father as he stares at his third beer absentmindedly. Plus, unlike today, he typically doesn’t drink, a fact that his own father is keenly aware of. (And thank god, he hasn’t said anything – _yet_ ).

 

 _“Earth to Jughead_.” FP half waves his hands in the air, trying, but failing to get his sons attention, “Sheesh, kid, your making me think you don’t even want to talk to your old man over here.”

 

“What?” Jughead turns his head to look up at his father, who’s sitting in a recliner next to the couch where Mr. Cooper is. He’s sipping on a ginger beer in between watching the game.

 

“You alright, son?” FP says, concern evident in his voice as he purses his lips together and tightens his grip on his drink koozie.

 

“Yeah. I’m fine, dad,” Jughead says dismissively with a light smile as he takes another sip of beer.

 

But FP Jones knows better. He’s knows his sons looks, his inflections, mostly because he was usually the exacting cause of said looks: contempt, disappointment, and the other expression for today, annoyance. _But_ – it isn’t like his son to drink, _ever_. So, he keeps an eye on Jughead in-between watching the game. While he may no longer be the reason for his sons look of nervous disdain, something else is clearly upsetting him and he wants to know what.

 

“Jug, get up here, son. You’re missing the best parts of the game!” Hal says in the front of the tv, smiling at the bright and oh-so-annoying infomercial that’s just ended as he takes another sip of his beer.

 

 _Son_. Oh yes, Mr. Cooper just used the term to refer to – unless it was directed at Jason – _him_.

 

(It’s just a term of endearment, Jughead. _Get a grip_ , he tells himself.)

 

“Sorry, Mr. Cooper.” Jughead gets up from the stool in the back of the garage almost immediately and plants himself next to Hal, taking a generous swig of his beer. Even though he and Betty aren’t a couple (not after last night, anyways), he still wants to make a good impression on Mr. Cooper (not that he needs to, but still). He feels obligated to, and in a weird way he kind of _wants_ to demonstrate to him, Betty’s father, that he is a young man worth his salt, which is weird – even for him – because he’s never considered himself to be one of those guys – old fashioned, wooing the potential in-laws and all. ( _In-laws?!_ )

 

“How’s school, Jughead,” Hal offers, taking a long swig of beer.

 

“It’s uh, it’s good. Same as usual.” Jughead looks down at his drink and lets out an inaudible sigh.

 

“Say, FP, can you believe your boy here, getting another degree, you must be so proud of him,” Hal says, clapping Jughead on the back as he places his beer against his knee.

 

“Oh, I am, but he doesn’t get that from me, do you Jughead. No, my boy here gets that from his mom.”

 

“That’s what he’s always maintained, Mr. Cooper, but I’m not so sure about that,” Jughead concedes with a mischievous grin, taking another swig of his beer.

 

“Well I think what you’ve done is amazing, Jughead. FP, you should feel proud of your son, here.”

 

FP tips his drink at Hal to say _thanks_ while Jughead smiles on the couch, secretly relishing the fact that Mr. Cooper – Betty’s father – is proud of _him_. ( _Yes!)_

 

“Say, uh, Jason – You still back there?” Hal yells.

 

“I am Mr. Cooper,” Jason says, peering up from his tablet.

 

“Get me another beer, will you?”

 

“Do I have a choice?” Jason says with a laugh. He sits up and places his tablet on the table top.

 

“No, but if you want to keep seeing my daughter, you’ll _do it!_ ”

 

“You say that every year, Mr. Cooper,” Jason says humorously.

 

“That I do, but nothing about what I just said has changed. And if you know what’s good for you, son, you’ll keep getting me those beers.” Hal says jokingly.

 

“Ay, sir.” Jason laughs as he does a mock salute to Hal. Hal turns around and grins at him and then goes back to watching the game.

 

Suddenly, Jughead’s phone begins buzzing in his pocket. He ignores it, but it rings again.

 

“You gonna get that, son?” FP says, raising his eyebrows in a _what the hell are you playing at, boy_ kind of way.

 

He peers at the caller ID – Veronica Lodge. _Great._

 

“I uh, yeah, give me a sec, will you guys. I’ll be outside.”

 

Jughead gets up from the couch and pulls his phone out of his side pocket, “Back in two, sorry guys.”

...

 

 

 

 

 

Jughead goes outside and looks at her exclamative text of **_Well???_** Followed up with a consecutive text of, **_How did it go?! I’m dying here._**

 

 _I bet you are_ , he murmurs against the cold night air as he texts her back, **_Can’t talk now_** , quickly following that up and explanation: **_Too many people around._**

 

 ** _Fine_** , she replies in record time, **_but you never told me what happened. What did Betty say?_**

 

He sighs and watches his breath turn white against the chilly air. His fingers are cold as he types out the only thing he can, the truth: **_She didn’t say it back._**

 

Veronica looks down at his response, does a double take and holds the phone to her face, “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me. Betty, god girl, you are something else.” Like clockwork, she doesn’t hesitate to send Betty an immediate text that says simply: **_Be nice to Jughead, Betty. Friendly reminder that the boy has a heart of gold AND has carried your drunk ass home from my apartment countless times, babe. Let’s talk when you get back? -VL_**

 

Jughead sighs and clicks his phone off. He hastily shoves it in his jean pocket and is just about to go back inside the garage when he hears his dad’s voice behind him.

 

“Say, uh, Jughead. I have to be at work tomorrow early and all, so your old man’s gonna head out.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah, what can I say boy, FP Jones is a working man now.” FP says lightly, smiling wryly at his son.

 

“I know. That’s uh, that’s great dad.”

 

FP furrows his eyebrows and squints at Jughead, “Look, Jug, it’s none of my business, but is everything okay? You seemed kinda shifty in there.”

 

Jughead sighs, looking down at the ground, which is covered in a thin sheet of ice, “Honestly, dad? This is not what your gonna want to hear, but no, no it’s not.” Jughead looks up at his dad, who’s listening intently. He sighs and says, “I hope you enjoyed Alice’s cooking because this might be the last year you or I are invited here.”

 

“What? I’m sorry, I don’t follow here,” FP says, eyes widening. Then, he clears his throat and adds rather quickly, “Did something happen? I mean, did I do something, son?”

 

“Dad, I – _no_.” Jughead huffs in frustration (at himself, mostly) and adds, “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now anyways.”

 

“What’s going on, son?” FP says as a puzzled look spreads across his face, furrowing his brow.

 

“I uh,” Jughead scratches his head and looks down at the ground awkwardly, “I may or may not have told betty that I loved her last night.”

 

“What?” FP mouths in response, as a slow grin spreads across his face.

 

“Uh, dad, why are you smiling?”

 

“Because, boy, I thought Betty was _your girlfriend_.”

 

“Wait, what?!” Jughead says incredulously. (Betty, his girlfriend? _Pfft, no!_ )

 

“Yeah. I mean, haven’t you two always been _a thing_?”

 

“ _A thing_ – what? No, dad, Betty and her family looked after me when—.”

 

“I know, son, no need to remind me that I’m a shitty parent, I know it well enough. So, you and Betty are –?”

 

“Are _nothing_. We’re nothing, dad.”

 

“Nothing?”

 

“Yeah,” He says, scratching his head, “She uh, she didn’t say it back.”

 

“ _Oh_. Well, shit.”

 

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

 

“Wow, that’s uh, that is definitely awkward.” FP acknowledges, scratching the back of his head as he looks down at the ground and back at his son. He pauses before saying, “Look, son, I’d like to stay and chat, but I have to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow, but walk me out, will you?”

 

“Yeah okay. Sure thing, dad.”

…

 

 

 

 

 

FP unlocks his car manually and turns back around to face his son, “Well, are you gonna give your old man a hug or what?” He says with open arms.

 

“I guess.” But Jughead smiles when his dad’s arms come around him. He sighs and pats his dad on the back, leaving his hand to linger there for another second as his fingers bunch his dad’s plaid over shirt.

 

FP returns the hug with equal fervor. After another minute they break away from each other, “Well, I better get going.”

 

“Yeah, you’d better old man.”

 

“Old?!” FP scoffs as a look of playful incredulity spreads across his face.

 

“Do you know of another adjective dad?”

 

FP grins and shakes his head, “No, I suppose I don’t.”

 

As his dad gets in his truck, FP rolls down the window as he revs up the engine, “Look, son. About earlier, I don’t know how Betty feels about you, but I wouldn’t worry about it. You’ll always have a place here with them, you know that.”

 

“Yeah I know, thanks dad.”

 

“Listen, I know you and I haven’t always had the best relationship, but I want you to know I’m trying and the job I have now is the start of that. Come see me before you leave town, okay? Your old man would like to spend time with you, if you’ll let me.”

 

“Kay,” Jughead says quietly.

 

FP smiles. “I’ll be seeing you, son. I’m proud of you, really, I know I’ve been a shit parent, but you’re doing good, okay. Don’t let what happened with Betty slow you down.”

 

“Thanks dad.”

 

“Boy, I mean it.” FP points at Jughead from his car window playfully.

 

But it’s the term of endearment that Jughead rolls his eyes at, “I won’t, dad.”

 

“Good, now get inside kid before you freeze your ass off out here, kid.”

 

“Whatever, dad.” Jughead shakes his head and pretends to roll his eyes as he watches his dad pull out of the Cooper’s driveway. After another minute, FP’s truck disappears as it turns onto the main road.

 

As Jughead walks back into the garage, he thinks about what his dad just said. This _would_ blow over, right?

 

Hopefully.

…

 

 

 

 

 

Later that evening, Jughead is a bit tipsy when he goes in search of his overnight bag. He walks behind the length of the leather sofa in the Cooper’s living room to find its vanished, which is odd. So, he descends the staircase in search of the missing overnight bag and heads with some hesitation to Betty’s room to see if Betty knows of its whereabouts.

 

As he walks down the corridor, he passes pictures in the hallway – stills from when he and Betty were just kids and sighs. He can’t help but wonder if those will be the only pictures of the two of them after this holiday has passed.

 

Seconds later, he stands at the foot of her bedroom door and knocks gently against the wood. “ _Betty_ ,” he whispers with uncertainty, “May I come in?” When she doesn’t respond, he pushes the door open.

 

He finds that her television is on. ‘Holiday movies, _of course_ ,’ he murmurs to no one as he turns in the direction of her bed. She’s asleep and Oliver is curled up at her side. Not that Oliver can even understand his movements, but for posterity’s sake, he puts one finger up to his lips and looks down at him. Then, he notices his bag in the corner of the room and a sleeping bag next to it – had she? _No_ , he thinks, surely this was Alice Cooper’s doing. But it is the same one he used to use that one all the time, so –

_Dude, stop getting your hopes up._

 

But Jughead smiles despite himself. He goes over to his bag and unzips it quietly as a _Hallmark_ movie plays on her TV in the corner of the room.

 

Finally, he locates his plaid pajamas. He drapes them over his arm and heads to her bathroom, but not before taking one last look at the TV and Betty’s soft, sleeping face pressed gently against her pillow. She’s looking so cherub-like, blonde hair fanned out against her pillow and it makes him sad to think that he won’t be sharing a bed with her while they’re both here for the time being.

 

 _Well_ , he thinks amusedly, at least I won’t have to watch that shit _next_ Thanksgiving, he thinks, regarding the terrible movie playing in the backdrop of her room (in truth, Jughead had always hated _Hallmark_ movies). _There’s your silver lining, Jughead._ He grins to himself as he opens her bathroom door. He slips inside with his pajamas and shuts the door behind him.

…

Half an hour later, he exits her bathroom with damp, combed hair, notes that Betty and Oliver are both fast asleep, so he shuts the bathroom door quietly again. He proceeds to roll the sleeping back out, snagging a pillow from the seat in the windowsill – hey, he wasn’t going to yank one out from under Betty’s sleeping head of hair – and throws it beneath his head.

 

He’s asleep in less than twenty minutes, which for him – a veritable night-owl – is record timing.

 

The TV drones on in the background.

…

 

 

 

 

 

Jughead is asleep on the floor of Betty’s bedroom when he feels something wet and soft rub against his nose. He opens his eyes and finds Oliver face in his.

 

“Ollie,” his voice sounds sleepy, “What is it boy?”

 

Oliver whimpers and pushes his paws against Jughead’s chest.

 

“What’s wrong buddy?” Jughead pulls Oliver against his chest and scratches his head, “How’d you get down from Betty’s bed, boy? That must have been quite a jump for you.” Jughead looks over at Betty’s bed. She’s still fast asleep. “ _Geez Betts_ , you’ve been asleep since the early evening,” he whispers into the darkness. Then, he looks down at Oliver, “But that’s grad school for you, right boy?” He sighs and rubs Oliver’s ears. And right as he does, Oliver whimpers loudly and begins to bark. “Keep it down, boy.”

 

Oliver cries one last time and goes limp in Jughead’s arms. “Go to sleep, Olie.” Jughead yawns and shuts his eyes.

…

 

 

 

 

 

Sometime around two am, Betty wakes up in the dead of night and feels like she can’t breathe. She sits up in bed, heart beating furiously as she grasps for air. She looks down on the ground and sees Jughead sleeping on his back with Oliver pressed against him. She feels blackness around her and feels like her heart’s going to drop out of her chest.

 

She feels like she’s going to die.

 

Her heart skips a beat as she attempts to speak but can’t. Seconds pass and she sucks in a half-breath and finally manages to choke out his name – ‘Jughead’ – grasping at her throat with one hand as her other hand bunches the fabric of her bedspread.

 

Despite being sound asleep, Jughead must hear something because he turns over on his side and opens his eyes.

 

Finally, her windpipe catches two syllables worth of breath, “ _Juggie._ ”

 

“Betty, s-time is it?” He sits up from the floor, yawns, and looks over at her bed. But what he doesn’t expect to see is betty holding her neck – “Oh my god – _Betts!_ ” He pushes the top of the sleeping bag down and trips on his feet as he tries to get free, rushing over to the side of her bed.

 

 _“Juggie…I can’t breathe--”_ She says with fear in her eyes as she grasps for him in the darkness, desperate to feel his hands on her once more, holding her close like he always does.

 

Jughead takes hold of her, cradling her face as he looks her in the eyes, “Betty, baby, look at me,” he says, one hand firmly against her cheek, “Deep breaths, okay?”

She nods.

 

“I’m going to count to three and I want you to count with me, okay – one, two—”

 

Betty regains her breath before he says _three_ , panting against the dead of night, filling the room with the sound of her heavy breathing as her chest heaves up and down. She begins to cry as she feels her normal breathing pattern return, steadying her heart rate as she breaths in and out.

 

“Hey, it’s okay, Betts. I’m here, baby.” Jughead puts his hand on her shoulders and rubs her left cheek as Betty cries.

 

“I – I—” Her breathing sounds heavy, uncertain. There’s a confusion in her voice that’s palpable. One minute she was sleeping soundly, the next – chaos.

 

Instinctively, Jughead pushes his feet beneath the sheets and pulls her onto him. He wraps his arms around her, cupping the back of her neck as they rock together for a few seconds. He needs her to feel safe, to ease her back into sleep. He begins to rub her hair as she cries against his chest, “Shh, it’s okay Betts. It’s gonna be okay, baby. I’m here.”

 

“Jug?” She says his name with a hint of hesitation amidst heavy tears.

 

“What is it?” He brushes a stray hair from her face as he looks down at her, holding his breath in anticipation.

 

“ _I’m sorry_.” Betty starts crying against his chest as Jughead cradles her head.

 

It isn’t an admission of love like he’d hoped for, but it’ll do for now. He feels relieved somehow, sighing as he wipes an invisible tear from beneath her eye, “Let’s just concentrate on getting some rest. Okay, babe?” He whispers above her, pressing his lips to her forehead.

 

Betty nods and hugs his waist.

…

 

 

 

 

 

Thirty sleepless minutes pass.

 

“Jug?” Betty looks up at his sleep face.

 

“What is it, Betts?” he says with a yawn.

 

“I can’t sleep.”

 

“But I can,” he says, wrapping his arms more firmly around her. He yawns and says, “You slept the day away you know.”

 

“I know.” Betty says, her voice filled with regret about something else entirely. “Jug, _can we?_ "

 

“What,” he says, sitting up, “What is it, babe?”

 

But Betty isn’t ready to say _it_ , not quite. And so, she asks instead, knowing that she’s being a bitch for not telling him _I love you too_ , but that because he loves her, he’ll do it anyways ( _god_ ), “Will you watch a movie with me?”

 

“And by ‘movie,’ he says with a sleepy roll of his eyes, “You mean something off the Hallmark channel, I surmise? He yawns and looks at her sleepily.

 

“I don’t know,” Betty shrugs her shoulders, “maybe.”

 

“Put on the movie.” Jughead runs his hands through his hair and sits up as Betty finds the remote next to her bed and hits the plastic power-on button with a _click_.

 

Betty turns around to look at him. He blinks but doesn’t say anything. Then, she turns back to stare at the TV screen.

 

“Betty?”

 

“What?” She says softly, turning around so that their eyes lock in the darkness.

 

“Come here.” He pulls her onto him, tucks her under his arm and pulls the comforter around them both.

 

Betty sighs contentedly and wraps her arms around Jughead’s waist as he brushes his fingers against her scalp.

 

They fall asleep like that.

…

 

To be continued.

__

 

 

_**Here it is, at last. This chapter took me such a long time to write. Thank you in advance for your patience.** _

_**As always, comments are greatly appreciated.** _

 

_**Author's Note: I would suggest you listen to the songs that I have included in this chapter, plus one that I did not include above:[Let It All Go by Birdy + Rhodes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6u0DGIh3wLA). I listened to this song several times while writing this chapter. The song lyrics Betty sings at the beginning of the chapter are from the song [Eternal Flame](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSoOFn3wQV4), which was written by The Bangles. Many Thanks. -Starry <3** _

_**__** _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: it-happened-one-starry-night.tumblr.com


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